By The Numbers
by broadhands
Summary: Have you ever wondered how the Avatar program started? As you might expect from the RDA, it wasn't all clear sailing, as one of the first candidates discovered. This story is part of my 'En Pointe' narrative arc.
1. Chapter 1

They said you didn't dream in cryo.

Many of the things they said were true, or at least contained an element of truth. They didn't like to tell lies – at least outright lies. However, even they thought they were telling the whole truth when they said no-one dreamt in cryo.

It turned out they were wrong.

* * *

Sara had dreamt this dream many times since she had been loaded into the cryo chamber.

"She is almost totally unresponsive to any stimulus," said the doctor to the two men in suits. "I don't see why you would want to use her in your research."

The room the monitor displayed was stark, the padded walls and floor a pale green. A young woman was sitting backed into one corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees and her green eyes terribly blank.

One of the two men replied, "I think she will do very well as a test subject. Her DNA is almost perfectly matched to our requirements."

"Yes," replied the other. "No next of kin, a ward of the state, and no possibility of capricious lawsuits if the results are not optimal."

"We'll take her," said the first man in a suit.

"It's your funeral," commented the doctor. He nodded to the three orderlies standing by the door, adding, "I'll just be a moment while I fill out the paperwork."

The steel door into the padded cell crashed open, the orderlies advancing cautiously towards the young woman – with good reason. Only eight weeks ago, in one of her unpredictable outbursts of fury, she had injured two orderlies and almost killed a third.

They extended the restraint poles towards her, the memory plastic restraints closing smoothly around the column of her neck. "Sara, sweetheart," said one of the men softly. They had learnt through bitter experience that she did not like loud noises. "You have to come with us."

Sara made no outward sign of having heard the words, but nonetheless she stood up. This had been done many times before, and she knew what she was supposed to do. It was one of the rules that she stood up and was quiet when the men used the poles.

"Is she secure?" whispered the doctor, who had followed the men into the padded cell.

The lead orderly nodded, so the doctor slipped his hand out of his lab coat to reveal a small hypospray unit. "Sara, I am going to give you some medicine to make you a little sleepy," said the doctor.

Sara turned her head towards the medico, looking at his feet, nodded once, and held out her arm. She had learnt that people didn't like it if she stared into their eyes, so she didn't look directly at them anymore. The doctor approached her cautiously, watching her for any sudden movements, and quickly applied the hypospray against her forearm.

The dream always became a little blurry at that point. Sara wasn't sure why – it just was. She supposed it was one of the rules of the dream, just like it always faded into a little box that she occupied with two men in dark suits. The little box vibrated and hummed quietly. Somehow the noise was soothing, not like many noises that she heard.

She knew there were two men, because she counted them to make sure. It was important that she knew how many there were.

Dark Suit Man Number One commented, "It's a pity that so few have the right genetic material for the formation of an Avatar. The research needs more test subjects."

"Yes," replied Dark Suit Man Number Two. "If we are to continue mining on Pandora, we will need a viable work force. The death rates are too high – I mean the deaths from cancer, not from the wild animals, or the natives. If the media get hold of the data on returnees our stock price will end up in the shitter. Without a workforce able to tolerate local conditions, we are fucked."

"At least with the new flash cloning process we won't have to wait as long for results," said Dark Suit Man Number One. He pulled out his cell phone – yes, she remembered what cell phones were for. Her mother had always talked a lot to her cell phone. Dark Suit Man Number One rapidly thumbed out a message, clearly one of the many who disliked giving voice commands to their hardware. Sara was pleased about that – she didn't like people using voice commands.

The next part of the dream was mostly in another padded room – sky blue instead of being pale green. Nothing much else changed though, except for the people Sara saw. There were eighteen different orderlies, four ordinary doctors, one head doctor and the two men in dark suits. The head doctor made her do lots of tests. She liked the tests with numbers, and the ones with pictures as well. Sara didn't like the ones with writing though.

Yes, she knew how to read, but the tests with writing were just too boring, and her attention would wander off. The only bad thing she didn't like about the tests was the funny hat she had to wear. It was black, and fit very tight - so tight they shaved off all her hair.

She was in the room with the sky-blue paint for two hundred and eighty-two sleeps. Sara knew that, because she counted every sleep.

Sara liked the room with the sky-blue paint a lot more than the pale green room. The people she saw were much nicer to her, and gave her things to play with – two hundred and eighty-four wooden blocks, five dolls and sixteen toy cars. The wooden blocks had one thousand six hundred and ninety eight different pictures – two of the blocks were the same, otherwise there would have one thousand seven hundred and four different pictures. When she built things with her blocks, it was important that the right kind of pictures were touching, otherwise it wasn't right, and the two blocks the same had to be as far away from each other as possible. It was very important to get it right.

The last day she was there, one of the doctors – a pretty blonde woman – was talking to one of the other doctors. "What we are doing to her is criminal," whispered doctor number three, otherwise known as the pretty blonde doctor. There was something odd about her voice, about its texture, that Sara had never heard before. "Sara is so intelligent, and sweet."

Doctor number two – a tall thin man with dark hair and a scruffy beard – replied, "Shut up, Lissa. If they hear you, you will be in a world of pain."

"It's still not right," insisted doctor number three.

"You know as well as I do she would have been euthanized three months ago, if she had been left in state care," said doctor number two. "The Population Act is very clear that unless their families are prepared to provide financial support, people like Sara are put to sleep when they turn eighteen, and their organs harvested. RDA is doing her a favour by giving her a longer life. Who knows, she may actually survive the procedure."

"No-one else has," said doctor number three bitterly.

Sara was building a wall with her blocks as she listened to the two doctors. She knew they were talking about her, and she worried about the word 'euthanized'. Sara didn't know what it meant, but it sounded bad. Very bad.

Doctor number two walked over to Sara, making sure that he didn't stand too close. She didn't like people looming over her. It was clear that he had something to say, so she cocked her head to one side to signal that she was listening to him.

"Sara, sweetheart," he said. "We are going to do another type of test, where you go to sleep and have a dream. You are going to dream that you look different, very different. You are going to dream that you are blue and very tall."

To his shock, Sara spoke one of the few series of words that any of the RDA staff had ever heard her speak. "Is it euthanized?" she asked, apparently concentrating on her blocks.

"No," said doctor number two, shaken to his boots. "You're not going to be euthanized."

"Ok," she replied, her voice flat and expressionless. "I want some more blocks."

"Sure," he said.

"They have to be different," she said quietly. "It will be too difficult if they are like my blocks."

He wondered what was going to be difficult, but decided not to ask. "Ok, sweetheart," he repeated, "I'll make sure you get some more blocks."

Sara stood up and said, "I am ready to go now."

Doctor number two took her hand, and lead her out of the sky blue room along a corridor into another room. There were lots of things in this room, with many computer monitors, and people talking softly. At one end of the room was a long open box, almost like a bed with a lid, with a big doughnut shape around the end. The doctor told her to get into the box and stay very still, and not panic when the lid was closed.

Sara did as she was told, and waited. She wasn't concerned when the lid was closed – she liked being shut away from the world. It was much safer, and she didn't have to worry about loud noises and flickering lights that made her feel sick. Over the slight hum of the box she could hear someone calling out, "We have one hundred percent congruency!"

Her eyes flickered shut, and suddenly Sara found herself falling down a tunnel of light – no, not a tunnel, a kaleidoscope of light.

* * *

Her eyes were blurred, and she struggled to hold her eyelids open. Not only that, her brain felt odd. Odd in a good way, not a bad way.

The scene in front of her swam into focus, and she saw doctor number three – Lissa, that was her name – standing over her. Lissa was wearing some kind of clear mask over her face.

"Sara, can you hear me?" asked Lissa.

Then something really odd happened. Lissa clicked her fingers near Sara's ears – Sara felt her ears twitch and move, and she gasped with surprise. Her ears had never done that before.

"We have an auditory response," said Lissa, and shone a bright light into Sara's eyes, making her squint and turn her head away. "Pupil dilation nominal," added Lissa.

"I don't like bright lights," said Sara, making Lissa jump. "You know I don't," she added.

"Hi, Sara," said Lissa. "It looks like you have woken up in dreamland."

Sara sat up, and swung her legs off the bed, only to stop in amazement. Her legs were pale blue, with dark blue tiger stripes – and Lissa was tiny. She held up her hands in front of her face, and saw that she had ten fingers, not twelve. She counted them, just to make sure – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and ten. "I'm blue," said Sara. She did her usual quick conversion from the way she preferred to count, so that Lissa could understand, and added, "I have eight fingers."

"Yes, that is right," agreed Lissa. "You are blue, have eight fingers and are ten feet tall."

Sara cautiously stood up, towering over Lissa, and felt something behind her. Something extra. She turned to look and exclaimed, "I have a tail too." She felt something extra in her head, and wiggled it, surprised to see her tail lash from one side to another. It felt good.

Actually, that wasn't the only thing that felt good. She felt good. Her thoughts were crystal clear, the colours she saw were brilliant, and she could smell – everything. This was better than being awake. Everything felt right.

"Ok, Sara," said Lissa. "We are going to wake you up now. Lie back down on the gurney, and shut your eyes. You can come back here another time."

Reluctantly, Sara returned to the gurney, and did as she was told. She felt something tugging at the core of herself, pulling her away from where she was, and suddenly Sara made a decision. She was not going back. Very firmly, she said, "No!"

Sara felt something dig its claws into the core of her being, and she wrenched away from it, feeling a terrible tearing sensation. She heard Lissa cry out, "Sara!"

Everything turned black.

* * *

Lissa said, "Are you sure we lost her?"

"Yes," said doctor number two over the intercom. Sara remembered his name was Phred. "There is zero brain activity at this end, and her heart has stopped beating. She's gone."

"Fuck!" swore Lissa.

Sara could tell that Lissa was really angry. She didn't like it when people got angry, especially when they were angry with something she had done. Perhaps it was her fault that Lissa was angry, so Sara sat up and said, "I'm sorry, Lissa."

Lissa screamed and leapt back ten feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Sara retreated in confusion back into the corner of the room, away from Lissa, holding her hands over her sensitive ears. Tears ran down her face – something was terribly wrong, and it was something Sara had done. Why else had Lissa screamed? She squatted down and clasped her knees into her chest. She knew from past experience that if she curled into a ball, when the orderlies came and hit her it didn't hurt as much. That had always happened before when she had done something wrong, when she lived in the pale green room.

Had she broken one of the rules? If she had, the rule she had broken was not one that she knew. Sara had always thought it very unfair to be punished for breaking a rule that she didn't know, which was why she didn't like to talk to people, and why she didn't look at their faces.

"One, two, three, four..." she whispered. It always helped when she counted, feeling the safety and security of numbers. Numbers always obeyed the rules that governed them, and you could figure out the hidden rules easily, not like with people.

"Seven, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen," counted Sara. When she felt a cool hand touch her shoulder she buried her head further into her chest, and kept on counting. The orderlies would come soon to hurt her. "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty-one."

"Sara, it's ok," said Lissa. "You don't need to be frightened. You just surprised me a little."

"Go away," replied Sara, refusing to look up, and squirming away from Lissa's touch – even though she liked Lissa, her hand was making her skin crawl. "If you are here when the orderlies come to punish me, they might hit you too." They always came when she did something bad, and they never told what she had done wrong. Sara drew a breath and continued, "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four..."

"No-one is going to hit you, Sara," said Lissa. "I promise." Lissa was horrified by what the Avatar had just said – what Sara had just told her. What kind of hell had she been through before she came here? "The orderlies can't come into this room. It's one of the rules." Since she had been working with Sara, she had delved into the standard texts on autism and as a result knew that rules were very important to Sara.

Sara stopped counting and lifted her head. "They can't?" she asked.

Lissa was immediately captivated by the glory of the Avatar's – of Sara's huge golden eyes, even though they were brimming with tears. "No," replied Lissa, quietly but firmly.

"What's happening? Is there someone else there?" demanded Phred over the microphone. His voice was raised, making Sara flinch, and so she put her hands firmly over her ears again. "Dammit, Lissa, tell me something."

"Lower your voice, Phred," said Lissa. "You'll frighten Sara again. You know how she counts in base eight when she is upset – it's in all her records. She has only just stopped counting."

"Hello Phred," said Sara, keeping her hands firmly in place. "I only got to twenty-four. Um, I mean twenty." She had forgotten to translate it to ordinary numbers. Sara had learnt to her cost that people got confused when she counted the way she preferred.

"Impossible!" said Phred's voice, lowered somewhat over its previous volume. Sara cautiously lowered her hands. "Sara is..."

"Yes, I know," interrupted Lissa, thinking that for all his wonderful qualities Phred had the sensitivity of an ox. "I know it's impossible," she confirmed, "But here she is."

"Where else would I be?" asked Sara curiously, maintaining her gaze on Lissa's face.

Lissa noticed the lack of tension in Sara's shoulders, and her ease in maintaining visual contact with her own face. Perhaps...

"Sara, what do you think happened when I told you to get back on the gurney and shut your eyes?" asked Lissa.

"Um, it's sort of difficult to, um, tell," replied Sara, twisting her hands nervously. She hoped she wasn't going to make a mistake. "I felt something pull at me, but I didn't want to go. I feel better in this dream place than I do when I'm awake. That's why I Chose to stay here. It sort of hurt a little, and everything went black for a while. Then I sat up." Sara paused anxiously. "You're not going to make me go back, are you? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, sweetheart," assured Lissa. "You haven't done anything wrong, and no-one can ever send you back."

"Good," said Sara. She was hot, and her skin was prickling under the hospital gown she was wearing, so she took it off, scrunched it up and dropped it on the ground. That felt a lot better, she thought, and grinned. If Lissa was tiny here, any orderlies were going to be tiny as well, so no-one was going to make her wear clothes if she didn't want to. "Can I have my blocks then? Phred promised I could have more blocks."

They brought her blocks, and many other things besides. A lot of people came to visit her in her new room, most of whom she hadn't seen before, and all were wearing the clear masks. She asked Lissa why, and was told that the air she breathed now was different. Ordinary people couldn't breathe the same air that she needed. Sara asked why.

About ten minutes of why later, Lissa sank to the ground and groaned in despair at the stream of questions. A little while later Phred brought in a large data tablet and gave it to Sara. It took her a little while to figure out how to use it, and was soon enveloped in information on a far-distant world called Pandora.

"I think we have stumbled across the cure for autism," said Lissa to Phred, after watching Sara for several hours. Sara was half listening to what Lissa was saying as she was surfing the web for knowledge. It seemed that Sara had been sick with autism, and was better now. Perhaps she would look that up as well. "Have you noticed her verbal skills, and how much easier she seems with people?"

"The improvement is a trifle obvious, Lissa," he said drily. "I hardly think it is a cost effective therapy, and it is a rather drastic therapy – a real case of kill or cure. A bit of a risk, don't you think, at two hundred million a shot for a flash clone of _homo pandorus_?" answered Phred. "In any case, do you think the RDA will ever admit to what we have been doing here?"

"No," sighed Lissa. "You're right. I was being stupid."

Phred continued, "It's not likely to happen again. The lab boys think they have figured out what happened. They are going to adjust the cloning process to increase the amount of human genetic material in the Avatar, and change the coding of the link unit so it doesn't achieve one hundred percent congruency. Instead, they will be shooting for ninety-nine point nine nine eight percent, and maintain some deliberate instability in the link process."

"Why are they changing the process?" asked Lissa curiously. "I thought they wanted a local work force."

"The word has come down from on high that the RDA does not want permanent transfer of personalities into Avatars," said Phred. "They want to keep some hold over the workforce. If the candidates have to maintain their human bodies as well as the Avatars, local RDA management will have some leverage over any labour issues that might arise. That's why the objective of the project was always the establishment of temporary links to Avatars. The work that was done on Sara is a dead end, as far as they are concerned."

"Does that mean..." started Lissa, her fists tightly clenched.

"Yes," said Phred. "We have a little time to learn all we can, and then we have to shut down the experiment."

A cold chill ran down Sara's spine. Did that mean they were going to kill her? Quickly, she looked up the meaning of the word 'euthanize', and as she read something froze inside her – froze solid into a razor sharp blade, a cold determination to survive at all costs. She would have to come up with a plan that would appeal to the ones who were on high, a plan that would mean her continued existence. No, not just her existence – her freedom. She mouthed the word slowly – free-dom.

Lissa said softly, "We will have to come up with a way of preventing that outcome."

Phred nodded once. "I agree. She is a sentient being, and deserves the best possible future we can give her."

"Sara is not a sentient being," snapped Lissa. "She is a person."

It seemed that perhaps Sara was not entirely without allies.

"Can I have a mirror?" asked Sara. She wanted to distract Phred and Lissa, make them think that she did not understand, even though they seemed to be her allies. "I wish to know what I look like."

A mirror was brought, allowing Sara to critically examine her face. It was very different from a human face, although it had the same number of features, except for additional one of the queue that grew from the back of her head. Although that was hardly part of her face.

Sara traced the pattern of dark stripes on her face, and the dusting of pale freckles. She knew that the small dots on the rest of her body glowed in the dark, so she called out, "Lights dim ninety-eight percent."

Obediently, the lights grew dim, and she watched her pupils expand enormously. Yes, she was quite pretty – the pattern of glowing dots on her face was very pleasing. At first she didn't notice the surprised look on the faces of the two humans, being too absorbed in her self-examination, until she noticed them staring at her. Sara felt her face grow hot and she admitted, "I like numbers." Perhaps she wasn't supposed to know about percentages. There was no way she was going to admit she knew quite a lot about differential and integral calculus, going by what she had read in the last hour or so. After all, she had worked the math out in her head years ago, even if she used different symbols to what was on the web. "Lights on," she commanded.

"I think we are going to have to run some more tests," said Phred.

* * *

Phred, or Dr Palmer as he was known to his colleagues, was right. There were many more tests that were applied to Sara. Cognitive tests, intelligence tests, pattern matching tests, verbal acuity tests, mathematical tests, hand-eye coordination tests – she was tested for everything and everything to do with functioning of her brain.

"It's astonishing," said Phred. "Sara is testing in the ninety-ninth percentile for virtually every test we have."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not here, Phred," said Sara. "I can hear you, you know." She was getting tired of the continual series of tests and re-tests.

"Sorry, Sara," he apologised, and then flushed bright red as she patted him on his head.

As Lissa laughed merrily at her colleague's embarrassment, Sara commented drily, "Now you know how I feel, _Doctor Palmer_. I don't like being treated as a thing, or a lab rat, either."

"She needs a break," said Lissa, after she stopped laughing. "I think we should let Sara outside, into the dome."

"Dome?" asked Sara. "What dome?"

* * *

Sara's mouth dropped open. The clear glass dome soared high overhead – by its curvature she estimated that it must be at least five hundred metres in diameter. But even better than the impressive size of the dome was the fact that it was filled with growing plants, plants that she had only seen pictures of before – plants from Pandora.

Not only that, the air was filled with the hum of insects. It wasn't just a plantation - it was a real forest – a tiny example of the forest ecosystem of Pandora.

"What do you think?" asked Lissa, a pleased expression behind her exo-pack.

Sara whispered, "It's beautiful."

"You should see it at night," said Phred. "Why don't you have a look? Today was down as a rest day, so you might as well have some fun. Just be careful of some of the plants – not everything here is as harmless as it looks."

"Thank you," said Sara. "I'll be careful."

With those words she was off and running.

* * *

The artificial structure of the dome was enormous, and it was filled with growing plants. None were very large or old, but they all seemed to be growing vigorously, and many of the trees were reaching for the very heights of the dome.

Sara spent the entire day exploring the dome, identifying the hundreds of different plant she knew, until sunset found her in the centre of the dome. There was a small tree, something like a willow, but with pinky-white fronds dangling to the ground. It was only a little taller than her, unlike many of the other trees. In the fading light she could see that the fronds would glow with light, just like the freckles on her face and body.

Something in the tree called to her, and she gently caressed the fronds. Was there something she should do?

Almost as though she was dreaming, Sara took her queue and pressed it against one of the softly glowing fronds. The mysterious tendrils at the end of her queue, the tendrils that she had examined many times, wrapped around the silica-like frond.

Sara gasped. She could feel the entire forest, in her head, feel it growing and rejoicing in the fading light of the sun. Instantly she knew how many plants dwelled within this tiny alien forest – one million, four hundred and six thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one – each one growing in harmony with its neighbours.

The forest knew her, and recognised her, and welcomed her into its growing heart, but despite its rejoicing at her presence, the forest was tinged with melancholy. It was lonely, far away from where it should be, with only a trace of memory and understanding of who it really was. It could feel the missing spirit, whispering across endless space, seeking its lost children.

Sara whispered the name of the missing spirit – Eywa.


	3. Chapter 3

"We don't know much about the willow tree," commented Lissa.

Sara snatched her queue away from the frond of the willow tree, breaking her communion with the forest. "Oh?" she commented with disinterest.

"It is a rather pretty tree, especially at night," continued Lissa. "As far as I know it is the only one of its kind in the entire dome."

"I suppose it is pretty," said Sara. It seemed that Lissa had not noticed anything odd about what she had doing. Perhaps the darkness of the night had something to do with her inattention. "Lissa," said Sara. "They are going to kill me soon, aren't they?"

There were several very long seconds of silence while Lissa struggled with her thoughts, until she finally said, "Yes. We've been winding out the tests for as long as we can, but the amount of new data is trailing off. I only think we have a week or two left."

"I know," said Sara serenely. "I appreciate what you have been doing."

"How can you be so calm?" cried Lissa angrily. "The RDA is going to exterminate you, and you just stand there."

"I've been thinking," replied Sara. "I've been thinking that I should go to Pandora. If I go to Pandora, then there is an entire world to hide in, rather than just this little dome. The RDA won't be able to find me, let alone vivisect me."

"But the only way to get there is on an RDA starship," objected Lissa. "The RDA isn't just going to take you out of the goodness of its heart."

Sara said, "I've been thinking of a way to get them to take me. You too, and Phred as well."

"How?" demanded Lissa.

"By all reports, the natives are still avoiding contact with humans," replied Sara. "We know they have a language, but no-one has ever got close enough to actually learn it. Robotic remotes won't work, due to the magnetic flux, so the only option is to put someone like me in direct contact. My brain is still plastic enough that I should be able to pick up the native language fairly quickly." Both Lissa and Phred had exclaimed at the rate at which Sara assimilated new information into her adult brain – there was nothing like it on record, at least for organic brains. Sara paused before saying, "Based on my experience of the RDA, I suspect the manner in which the genetic material was collected to produce me did not leave the natives around the settlement particularly favourably inclined towards humans, so any attempt to do the same with unmodified humans is likely to fail. It will be at least another two years before the first standard Avatars will be ready to go, based on the current rate of research, and the time it took to create me."

Lissa was astonished by Sara's reasoning, by the degree of thought and planning that had gone into her proposal. It had been less than four months since Sara had occupied her Avatar body – since she had been almost totally crippled by her autism. What Lissa didn't see was Sara nervously flicking her fingers behind her back, counting in binary to try and remain calm as she spoke. She hadn't figured out what she would do once she got to two to the eighth minus one - start again? Count by wriggling her toes as well? That would get her to two to the sixteenth minus one. While Sara was worrying about what to count next, the only thing Lissa could think to say was, "It will be very dangerous. The natives may well kill you."

"There is a proverb about a thief teaching the shah's horse to sing that is applicable to my situation," replied Sara. "If I do nothing, I will die before the next full moon. The next starship leaves for Pandora in less than three months. If the RDA accepts this proposal I will have another three months, even if the natives kill me. I think it is a risk worth taking, as I have nothing to lose." Sara had run out of fingers, panic briefly gripping her heart as she really thought about what might happen. Immediately, she moved on to wriggling her toes as well, the new numbers calming her like they always did. Sara said, "We don't have much time."

Lissa was about to race off when she suddenly stopped. "It's no good," she said, her shoulders slumping. "There is no way they will be able to build a cryo chamber for you and get it certified for use on the starship, not within the timeframe."

Sara smiled a half-smile. "I looked at the specifications for the _ISV White Star_ on the secure RDA intranet. The _White Star _is refitting in orbit right now, and there is a proven cryo-chamber my size on it- or rather there are four, already fitted for use with Pandoran atmosphere. I imagine they were used to bring the donors of my genetic material to Earth." She had wondered what had happened to them – there was no record, even in the secure network, and the forest had no memory of anyone else but her.

Lissa started, "How did you get access...never mind. I would rather not know."

Sara shrugged. "I hacked Phred's login. He uses your name and birthday as his password on all his accounts, and I lifted his thumbprint off a glass with some cling wrap. After that it was easy - all the information on how to beat security systems is available on the web."

"Oh," said Lissa, looking a little flustered. She had known that Phred liked her, but that much?

"I never managed to figure out your credentials," continued Sara. "You always manage to disguise what keys you are using when you login."

Lissa pulled herself together. "I have to go and get Phred," she said. "We have a proposal to write. Are you coming?"

"No," said Sara firmly. "I don't want to go back to my room again. Could you bring my data tablet back when you return?"

"Of course," replied Lissa, and left, running at a jog.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen Sara standing before the willow tree for the next eighteen hours, swaying softly side to side with her eyes shut as she counted up to sixty-five thousand, five hundred and thirty five on her fingers and toes. If it hadn't been for the calm yet inevitable progression of one number to the next, she would have flown apart in despair.

* * *

Three days later, both Phred and Lissa came into the dome, calling out to Sara. To keep her mind busy, she had been working out where the dome was, based on where the sun rose and the movement of the stars. It was difficult to do without instruments, but she had managed to narrow its location down to somewhere within five kilometres of a place called Chernobyl, in the Ukraine.

Not that it would do her any good. Sara couldn't breathe the air outside the dome for long, and the sight of a ten foot tall giant woman would no doubt cause alarm amongst the populace. It was just she wanted to know.

Sara ran towards to calling voices, dodging between the growing trees, and stopping abruptly in front of the two humans. Hope rose in her heart as she saw their grinning faces, and her fingers started flicking in the count again.

"Management has accepted your proposal," said Lissa. "We are all leaving on the _ISV White Star_ in three months time."

Sara sank to the ground in relief, so she could look her friends in the eye.

Phred grinned, "Not only that, but we are being paid a substantial bonus for coming up with the idea. Apparently management were happy not to have to write off the investment in dollars wrapped up in your rather spectacular torso."

Lissa jabbed Phred in the ribs with a sharp elbow, making him shy away a little, and she said. "About that – I mean your torso. I'm afraid you are going to have to start wearing clothes. The natives don't wander around stark naked like you have been for the last few months, you know. You will have to get used to wearing native dress, if you want to fit in."

"You are correct," agreed Sara, making a face. "I will have to comply with cultural norms to achieve the optimal result, even if it is not to my personal taste." She sighed, adding, "At least native dress is relatively minimal, so skin irritation will be minimised." Sara frowned, and asked, "Phred, why is my torso spectacular?"

The moustachioed researcher coughed, and trying not to mumble answered, "Your body is pleasing, both from an aesthetic and a sexual perspective."

Sara said, "Oh." She didn't know how to respond to this observation.

"What Phred meant to say," interrupted Lissa, "Was that if you were four feet shorter, he would be trying to get into your pants."

"But I don't wear pants, and even if I did they would not fit Phred," said Sara reasonably. The whole issue of sexuality was something of a closed book to Sara, and she still had much to learn about colloquialisms.

Phred glared at Lissa, and said, "Lissa is implying that I would like to acquire you as a sexual partner, if you were closer to my height."

Sara frowned, "I can see that would be a problem. There would be some significant biomechanical difficulties if the height differential between sexual partners was too great, and I believe that sexual activity between _homo sapiens_ and _homo pandorus_ would be technically illegal in most jurisdictions, falling under the category of bestiality, even if both parties mutually consented to such activity. I am afraid I would have to decline your offer, Phred. I don't like breaking rules, so I hope you are not offended."

Both Phred and Lissa were apparently having some difficulty breathing, but did not seem to be otherwise in distress. Sometimes Sara still had problems determining the correct social response, and it appeared that this was one of those occasions. She waited until they stopped gasping for air, and continued, "I believe I will require some training in the use of native weaponry and unarmed combat, for my own safety. There is a suitably qualified instructor living in Kiev, approximately one hundred and forty kilometres away by road. His name is Major Gennady Khudoshin of the Ukrainian Army. I would appreciate it if he could be engaged to conduct my training."

"What makes you think we are in the Ukraine?" asked Phred.

Sara gave him a long, cool look. Phred could be rather obtuse at times. "This dome is within five kilometres of the abandoned Soviet nuclear reactors in Chernobyl," she said. "I hypothesize the dome was constructed in the dead zone, both for the increased level of background radioactivity to encourage Pandoran plant growth, and as a security measure. I could not calculate the location with a smaller error, due to the lack of available instrumentation, although I am sure I could do substantially better with a sextant." She grinned at the researchers, adding, "I also noted that all human personnel wear dosimeters, so it really wasn't too hard to figure out."

"Phred will make the call to your Major Khudoshin," said Lissa. "I doubt we will be able to get him today, so after we get you into some clothes, we are going to go for a ride on the RDA Vomit Comet."

What was a Vomit Comet?

* * *

As it turned out, Sara loved the sensation of freefall. She swam though the air from one end of the aircraft to the other, performed somersaults and pirouettes, treasuring each of the precious twenty-five seconds of microgravity in each parabola that the Vomit Comet flew.

The flight crew were fascinated by her appearance, demanding still and moving images of her, together with a formal portrait. They were also impressed that unlike both Phred and Lissa, she did not fall victim to motion sickness.

The only bad part of the exercise was that she had to wear an exo-pack to give her the carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide levels demanded by her Pandoran metabolism.

A representative from RDA Public Affairs accompanied them. After the flight crew poured Lissa and Phred out of the aircraft on to the tarmac, and the PR man had left, Phred commented, "I suspect the Avatar program will become big news soon, by the look on his face."

"I don't think they will be using Sara for publicity," said Lissa. "I saw the first of the modified Avatars in vitro today – they have ten digits on their hands and feet, and their facial features have more of a human cast than Sara's. She looks much more like a native Pandoran than they will."

Sara said, "I enjoyed microgravity very much. How many more times will we be riding the Vomit Comet?"

Phred looked greener as he said, "Once a week for the next six weeks."

"That means I will have three thousand, eight hundred and fifty seconds in free fall experience," said Sara happily. There was a pregnant pause, which was all too rapidly filled by both Phred and Lissa trying to expel the lining of their stomachs onto the tarmac. "Are you ok?" asked Sara anxiously. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

Major Gennady Khudoshin was tall and well muscled for a human. He looked extremely competent and moved like a tiger, every single move purposeful and strong.

He looked up at Sara and said, "Hrrrmph. This is not going to be easy. Do you have another one the same?" His English was heavily accented, but not unattractive.

"I'm afraid Sara is the only one we have at the moment," replied Lissa.

"That will make it very difficult," said the Major. "I will need full documentation on the anatomy of the species with regard to range of motion, strength and vulnerability to blows. I will give you a list of other things that I will need as well." He paused for several seconds, adding, "I will need an assistant as well, to demonstrate."

"He will have to sign a non-disclosure agreement," said Lissa.

The Major clicked his fingers and said, "Bah! My daughter will be happy to do so."

Lissa said, "What is her name? I will need it to prepare the documentation."

"Nadia Khudoshin," replied the Major.


	4. Chapter 4

The Major had said he would return in a week's time, saying there was a great deal of study he had to undertake before he could start. While she was waiting for her lessons to begin, Sara spent her time buried in every report she could read on the Pandoran natives, and on the plant and animal life.

After the dome emptied, she would return to the willow tree and bond with it, communing with the forest to increase her understanding. What she learnt could not be expressed in words, although she started to formulate some equations describing the energy flow between the plants of the forest. No, energy flow wasn't the right description – it was more like an information flow, each plant telling the others how it felt and what was happening around it, so the whole forest was self-aware. What must the entirety of the Pandoran forest – Eywa – be like? Sara shivered when she thought of it.

As the days passed, Sara found she was becoming restless and irritable, unable to concentrate. She tried to focus on her studies, but nothing would make any sense, no matter what she did. When Lissa asked her a question, Sara's angry retort was like the blow of a fist.

"Are you feeling ok?" asked Lissa.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

Lissa came up to her charge and placed a hand on her leg. "You're burning up, Sara. You must be sick."

"Ow!" yelled Sara, when Lissa surreptitiously took a blood sample, and loaded it into her portable diagnostic unit.

Studying the readouts of her machine, Lissa did not reply, muttering words that sounded like, "No unusual viral or bacterial activity...pathogens absent...everything seems ok...hang on, this looks a little odd." The researcher plugged the unit into her data tablet and opened a host of windows. "That's interesting, very interesting," she announced, and then began to laugh.

"What is it?" demanded Sara suspiciously.

Lissa grinned, "You're ovulating."

"Oh," said Sara. "Is that all?"

"Um, I'm afraid not," replied Lissa. "I'm afraid Pandoran reproductive biology is quite different from human when it comes to ovulation. Essentially, the egg won't be released from your ovaries until it receives the right stimulus from your body, in order to maximise the opportunity to conceive. Until you receive the stimulus, your ovaries are going to pump out a very high level of female hormones into your bloodstream. That's what making you feel like a cat on a hot tin roof."

"How do I stop it?" snarled Sara. "If I don't do something to stop it, I'm going to go insane."

Lissa grinned even more broadly, "Sara, haven't you been listening? You have to have sex."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sara, shocked to the core. She stared at Lissa for a while before she said, "How am I going to do that? I don't see any Pandoran males around here, and even if there was one, I don't particularly want to get pregnant right now."

"Can I suggest masturbation?" said Lissa. "It seems the most logical solution."

Sara started to feel hot and cold all over. She almost whispered, "Do you mean self-stimulation of primary and secondary erogenous zones?"

"Yes," said Lissa. "Masturbation. Beating the beaver. Groping the grotto. Paddling the pink canoe. Teasing the..."

"I get the picture," growled Sara savagely, gritting her teeth.

"I'm glad," teased Lissa. "I was getting worried that your brains had dribbled out the hole in your skull and down your queue."

"There is only one problem," announced Sara. "I've never done it. You're going to have to show me how to masturbate."

Lissa's face went bright red, and Sara thought to herself with no little satisfaction, 'Hoist with her own petard.'

"Um, I'm not sure about this," admitted Lissa.

"Think of it as boldly going where no man has gone before," sniped Sara, staying on the attack. She had heard the phrase on an ancient 2-D adventure holovid about interstellar exploration, and had rather liked it, although the holovid itself was riddled with scientific inaccuracies.

Lissa couldn't help herself. She started to giggle. When she caught her breath again, she said, "Ok, I'll do it – once. After then, you're on your own."

Sara riposted, "I thought that was the whole point of masturbation."

"Very funny," replied Lissa drily. She flipped open her cell phone and called the control room. "Is the dome clear? Oh, you've been listening. In that case, turn off all the cameras and audio pickups. I mean all of them, every single damn one. If I find that anyone has been recording what we are about to do, I will rip off their heads and piss down their necks. Got it? Good."

When Lissa closed her cell-phone, Sara asked helplessly, "What do we do now?"

"Well," said Lissa, adopting her best lecturing voice. "I've always found the best method of getting the ball rolling was to start by gently rubbing your..."

* * *

"Now I think I see why people spend so much time thinking about sex," said Sara a little dazedly. She touched the top of her head yet again to reassure herself that her skull was still intact.

Lissa was fumbling with the buttons on her shirt as she replied, "Yes, there's nothing better than getting down and dirty. Personally I think it is amazing humanity ever developed technological civilisation, when most of us would be inclined to spend our time screwing ourselves silly rather than earning a living."

"What is sex like with, um, a man?" asked Sara. "Is it like this?" A warm glow had spread through her body and she felt much more relaxed. It seemed that Lissa's straightforward suggestion for relieving tension had addressed her immediate problem.

"Different," was Lissa's succinct answer. "If you are having sex with someone you love, it is a wonderful experience of caring and sharing, of feeling complete. Sex with a stranger that you have no attachment to is just friendly exercise, more like mutual masturbation than anything else. Of course, the whole issue of sex may be completely different for _homo pandorus_. We just don't know."

Sara did not immediately respond to Lissa's words. The most complete Sara had ever felt was when she bonded with the forest via her queue and the willow tree. What would happen if she bonded with the queue of another _homo pandorus_? What would happen if she had sex when she was bonded with a male? Would her brain melt into mush? It was pretty well mush at the moment – her usually quicksilver thoughts had to struggle to the surface as though they were swimming through lime jelly.

"I suspect I am going to be the one who finds out," she said eventually.

Lissa looked worried. "Sara," she said cautiously. "Don't feel obliged to rush into sexual experimentation with the natives, even if you think it may be useful from a sociological perspective, no matter what anyone may say. Sex is deeply personal, and you can suffer a great deal of emotional pain if you are not careful. Personally, I think you need to be especially cautious, given that you are recovering from a severe case of autism. The tests you have taken indicate that your apparent emotional age is in a state of constant flux, and we have no idea what the impact of your belonging to a totally different species will be. Wait until you find someone you really care about – male or female – before you plunge into deep end of the gene pool."

Sara reached out to briefly touch Lissa on the shoulder. "Thank you for your advice, Lissa. I think I will do as you say."

She did not see the sudden shine of unshed tears in Lissa's eyes, hidden by the distortion of the exo-pack mask. It was the first time that Sara had ever initiated touch with another person, and for a moment Lissa could not speak due to the sudden appearance of a large lump in her throat. Her voice was a little thick when she replied, "I'm glad."

* * *

A week later, Sara's ears twitched. She could hear music playing in her forest – she thought of the forest under the dome as hers now, although sometimes Sara wondered if it was the other way around. Perhaps it was better to say that she belonged to the forest. She ran lightly towards the source of the music, and suddenly stopped.

A young woman was dancing in the willow clearing to the music – music such as she had never heard before. Sara could not believe the grace with which the young woman moved, despite the impediment of an exo-pack – she hardly dared breathe for fear of stopping the beautiful sight.

Sara stood entranced for at least five minutes, one hand clasped to her chest, until the music faded away, and the dancer held her final line. The woman – no, she was hardly more than a girl – stood gracefully, and then curtseyed deeply to Sara, acknowledging her presence as her audience. She walked towards Sara, each simple step like a line of exquisite poetry, until she stopped, looked up and smiled, "Hi, I'm Nadia Khudoshin. You must be Sara."

For such a petite woman – she must have been only five foot tall, and slim as a razor, Nadia's voice was surprisingly low and husky. The harsh Slavic accent in her father's speech was transformed in her case to be marvellously warm and soft, like a lover's caress.

Sara could come up with no better response other than, "Yes, I am."

Much to Sara's surprise, Nadia said, "You are very beautiful."

"So are you," replied Sara, her face growing hot. No, not just her face, her entire body was glowing. She felt compelled to say, "I have never seen anyone dance like that. It was stunning – no, it was more than that. I don't have the language to tell you what I felt." Sara's head was filled with a swirl of numbers and equations, all trying to describe what she had just seen, but failing. It seemed that there were some things beyond the ken of mathematics.

Nadia shrugged – in her case even an ugly movement like a shrug was beautiful. "Dance is my life. I am to join Kiev Ballet Company at end of summer holidays, as member of chorus. After that, we shall see. In meantime, I am to help Papa train you to fight." She made a face, adding, "The money will be useful – first year member of chorus does not get paid much. That is why I still live at home with Papa."

"Oh," replied Sara uncomfortably. Suddenly she realised she knew nothing about money, nothing about the need to pay for the basic necessities of life. "Where is your father now? Is he not supposed to be here?"

"Papa is yelling at the men bringing the equipment," replied Nadia. "He is very good at yelling. I am sure the Army teaches officers how to yell in a military fashion. When he yells at you, don't be offended. He yells at everyone, especially me."

Perhaps Sara had made a big mistake by asking for Major Khudoshin as a teacher, even though the sources on the web said that he was the best sensei within five hundred kilometres. "I don't like loud noises and raised voices," said Sara anxiously, and her eyes began to brim with tears.

The normally impeccably poised dancer suddenly looked flustered. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to upset you. I will talk to Papa, and make sure that he does not yell at you."

"You would do that for me?" asked Sara in a shaky voice.

"Of course," replied Nadia. It seemed that the briefing material she had been given to study was correct. Sara was emotionally vulnerable, so it was just as well that her father had sent Nadia in first to make friends with her. "What do you like?" she asked, completely changing the subject.

Sara wiped her eyes, and enthusiastically answered, "I like numbers, and equations, and mathematics. You can use maths to tell you about everything, well, almost everything. I tried to describe your dancing, but I couldn't get any equations to fit. It was too complex and simple and beautiful."

Nadia was terrible at maths. She smiled brightly, "Tell me more."

"I used maths to choose your father to teach me," said Sara. She knew that most people did not share her enthusiasm, so she was struggling not to plunge into a detailed description of what she could do. "They never told me where the dome was, so I had to figure it out using the sun, the stars and the clock on my data tablet. That's how I knew it was near Chernobyl, so I looked for a good sensei in Kiev on the web."

"Papa is best sensei in the world," said Nadia proudly. "People come from everywhere to learn from him. He has been teaching me since I could walk, which is why I am here as his assistant."

"But I thought you were a dancer," wondered Sara.

A sad expression flitted across Nadia's face. "My mother was classical dancer, and she taught me how to dance, just as Papa taught me how to fight." She sighed. "Mama died when I was child." When Nadia saw Sara become anxious again, fearful at having offended her, Nadia added, "Don't worry, Sara. I'm ok. It just makes me a little sad when I think of Mama."

"I don't really remember mine," said Sara. "She left me in state care when I was three. I don't even know if she is still alive." She squeezed her hands into fists, and her lip curled into a half-snarl as she admitted, "I don't want to know if she is alive."

"Isn't there anyone who cares for you?" asked Nadia. She had dozens, even hundreds of friends, and she had her father. She couldn't conceive not being surrounded by people she loved, and loved her in return.

"Well, there is Phred, um, I mean Dr Palmer," admitted Sara. "He has been very supportive, for such an old grouch. And Lissa too," she added, a warm glow filling her heart. "Lissa has been..." Sara struggled for words to describe how she felt about the gentle researcher. "Lissa has...Lissa..." she repeated, her mind astonished at what she had just realised. "I...I love her."

* * *

What Sara did not know was that Phred and Lissa were monitoring the conversation between the two young women from the control room. Phred gently squeezed his colleague's shoulder as she whispered, "I love you too, my child."

"Don't you think you should tell her yourself?" asked Phred.

Lissa answered, "Only if you do too."

Phred gave a brief nod, his eyes suspiciously bright. It seemed that Sara's innocence and purity had penetrated even his hard heart.


	5. Chapter 5

The Major – Sara thought of his rank with a capital 'M' – adopted a position of parade rest and announced, "I understand that you do not respond well to loud voices and noises, which is understandable given your history."

"Yes, sir," answered Sara. She had never called anyone 'sir' before in her life, but the word just popped out of her mouth. The Major had an aura that absolutely compelled her to call him 'sir'.

"Very well," he said. "I only yell at people to attract their attention, when they do not listen to what I have to say. I am told that you are good listener, and furthermore you have chosen me as your sensei. That tells me you wish to hear my words."

"Yes, sir," she repeated.

"Some people," he said, his eyes twinkling and sliding across to look at his daughter, "Some people hold that I cannot teach without yelling. This is not case. I am excellent teacher, and I do not need to yell to teach receptive student."

There was a long pause, until Sara realised that she was supposed to fill the silence with, "Yes, sir."

The Major smiled, and continued, "As you have had good sense to select me as your teacher, you recognise I know more about art of combat than you do. Therefore, as we have limited time and much to cover, you will not argue with me, or say that you cannot do what I ask of you, because I am sensei, and you are pupil. However, if you do not understand something I have told you, you will ask me immediately to clarify what I have said. There are no stupid questions, there are only stupid answers. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," repeated Sara, feeling a little like a sound recording that could only play back two words.

"Excellent," he said. "I see we shall get on like house on fire."

Sara was about to object that she did not want to get burnt, when she realised that she was about to argue with the Major, and also that he had just used a simile to describe their future relationship. From the context the simile must have meant that sensei and pupil would become accustomed to each other quickly. "Yes, sir," she said. It seemed the safest thing to say.

"Now, I will teach you art of hand, stick, knife, and bow," he told her. "If we had several years available, I would consider teaching art of sword, but unfortunately we have less than three months. This is pity, for art of sword is the pinnacle of combat. However, before I teach you anything else, you must learn how to stand, and then you must learn how to fall."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"The objective of falling is to make use of the energy of the combat to your advantage," said the Major. "You may be falling to lessen the impact of a blow, or to break contact and gain better position, or to recover from an unbalanced position, or even to do damage to your opponent. Allow me to demonstrate."

The Major launched a full-blooded blow at his daughter's head. Nadia swayed to one side and caught with one hand at his wrist, appearing to lose her balance. As she fell backwards, she pulled the Major forward off his feet and somehow twisted in mid air, using his greater weight as a fulcrum. Sara blinked in surprise, somehow missing exactly how the Major ended face down on the ground with Nadia's thighs clamped around his throat.

Nadia shot Sara a grin as she released her father. The Major returned to his feet as though nothing had happened, and continued lecturing, "As you have just seen, Nadia used the energy of her fall to defeat a stronger and heavier opponent. You will now learn the various different ways to fall."

"Yes, sir."

While Sara was learning how to fall, a number of workmen were engaged in setting up a variety of equipment around the clearing. She did not dare to take notice of what they were doing, for fear of being reprimanded by the Major for lack of attention.

* * *

"Phred has asked me to marry him," Lissa said to Sara. The two women were leaning against one of the larger trees, watching the sun set. Sara was tired, more tired than she had ever been in her life, for the Major's tuition on falling had been relentless. And this was only the first day.

Sara felt a pang of jealousy. Would he try to take Lissa away from her? She shook herself slightly, trying to throw off the unworthy thought as she asked, "What did you tell him?"

"I told him yes," answered Lissa.

The Avatar did not immediately respond to this disturbing piece of information. Lissa glanced curiously at the ten foot tall woman, observing the play of emotions on her face. Sara would never be able to lie or deceive, she thought. Every single thought was immediately transferred onto her alien face. This inability to dissemble would drive the whole strategy for dealing with the natives, once they were on Pandora.

"Do you want to have children?" asked the Avatar eventually. She had struggled not to say that she didn't want Lissa to leave her. Sara had learnt enough of accepted social interactions that it was not appropriate to say bad things about people's good fortune – at least not to their faces.

A bitter-sweet expression crossed the researcher's face. "I can't have children," she answered. "I'm sterile."

Sara felt distress clamp around her heart at having made Lissa unhappy. She crushed the unwelcome emotion down by thinking of the mathematical model she was constructing to explain the flow of information to the willow tree from the plants of the forest, because there was something she wanted to tell Lissa. "Oh," she said, and paused. "That's a shame. I think you would make a wonderful mother."

"Thank you," said Lissa.

In a very small voice, Sara murmured, "I wish you were mine."

There was a lengthy silence, and Sara started to worry that she had said the wrong thing. That was until a small hand crept into hers and squeezed firmly, as Lissa said the words, "I would be proud to have you as my daughter."

* * *

The next day, before her lessons with the Major began, Sara sought out Phred and asked him, "Do I have any money?"

"You know, I have no idea," answered Phred. He frowned deeply, and opined, "I suppose the RDA should pay you something. I'll chase it up. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, there isn't anything I need," answered the Avatar. "I was just thinking it might be nice to buy presents for people I like."

Phred smiled. "You want to buy a gift for Lissa."

Sara blushed as she said, "Yes – to celebrate your engagement."

"She told you then," commented Phred. When Sara nodded in confirmation, he added, "Well, if it is for Lissa, then I will damn make sure the RDA is paying damn well for your services. It will be our little secret."

"Thank you," she said shyly. Perhaps he really was a nice person, thought Sara. Of course he was, she corrected herself, otherwise Lissa would never have agreed to marry him.

* * *

"As you are much larger and stronger than average human, you cannot spar with partner," said the Major. "We do not want you to inadvertently kill someone. Instead, we must use equipment to compensate for this lack."

They were standing in front of an excessively large punching bag, which must have weighed over two hundred kilos. Sara eyed it doubtfully and acknowledged his words by saying, "Yes, sir." She could not recall having said any other words in The Major's presence.

"You are to strike bag with clenched fist as hard as you can, like so." The Major demonstrated, his brutal blow reinforced with all the power of his formidably muscled body, the bag swinging from the savage impact. He steadied the bag with both hands, and said, "Now you."

Sara tried to do as he wanted – her blow did not even make the bag move as much as his.

"No, no, no," frowned the Major, looking very unhappy. "I want you to focus your intent, your whole being at the end of your fist, and unleash blow. Again."

Her next attempt was no better than her first.

"Again."

She tried again.

"Pitiful," was the only word from the sensei. He looked disgusted.

"Papa," interrupted Nadia, "May I talk to Sara?" He nodded and waved a hand at her, indicating that nothing she could do or say would make the situation any worse.

"Sara," said Nadia. "You haven't done anything like this before, have you?"

The Avatar shook her head. She had no idea of how to do what the Major asked.

"I want you to imagine that punching bag is your mother," said Nadia. "Can you do that?"

Sara felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck, and her chest grow tight.

"She is telling you that you are slow and stupid, and everyone knows two plus two is five," continued Nadia. A red veil started to cloud Sara's vision. Nadia added, "She is sending Lissa away forever. Now hit..."

With a scream, Sara launched a blow of her fist, every muscle in her body dedicated to destroying the woman she hated with her entire being – the woman she hated for discarding her like a piece of worthless litter, the woman who was unworthy to ever be called mother.

There was the sound of snapping metal as the chains between the supporting framework and the bag sheared from the force of the vicious blow. Sara stood over the corpse of the bag, her chest heaving.

"Much better," said the Major. "A little sloppy and uncontrolled perhaps, but much better. Now, Sara, can you remember how you felt as you struck the bag?"

Sara nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good," said the Major. "I want you to capture that feeling, control and shape and focus it. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she whispered, the drumming of her heart loud in her ears.

"Excellent," he said, and looked disapprovingly down at the bag on the ground, as though it was an affront to his dignity. "I should have specified heavier chain, Nadia. Good work on finding Sara's trigger."

"Thank you, Papa," said Nadia.

"You may take break, while workmen fix equipment," said the Major, and turned away to supervise the workmen who were even now scurrying to do his bidding.

Nadia asked, "Sara, are you ok?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," replied Sara, confused. For a moment she had seen the woman who had birthed her, and had wanted to kill her. She was shocked to have found such hatred in her soul.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," apologised Nadia. "We needed to show you how to focus, how to draw upon your inner strength to strike out and injure or kill someone, even a stranger."

"How can you be like this?" asked Sara. "How can you live knowing that you can hurt someone like that?" She shivered, a little afraid of herself, that she could do such a thing.

Nadia gave her a half-smile. "It is better that I know what I can do, and choose not to do it," she said. "I choose not to hurt other living creatures. That is why I do not eat meat, or fish, or eggs." A serious expression slid over her face as she added, "Although, if any threatened me or mine, I will not be victim. Nor should you."

Sara tilted her head to consider Nadia's words. What she had related seemed sensible. All her life Sara had been a victim without choice. Since Sara had chosen not to return from her Avatar body, she was done with being a victim.

Never again would anyone take away her right to choose her own fate.

* * *

The training continued relentlessly, five days out of every seven. A little to her surprise Sara found she was enjoying learning from the Major, although he was so intense she was still a little afraid of him – even despite the fact she was twice the size and three or four times stronger than he was.

During breaks she talked to Nadia, asking her what life was like as an ordinary person. It sounded like an alien world, totally abstracted from anything that she knew. Nadia's tales of school, of studying to be a classical dancer, were fascinating, like the memoirs of an explorer of a foreign land. Even more fascinating and alien were the tales of her friends and lovers – she had not been a virgin since she was fourteen, and freely admitted to numerous affairs with individuals of both sexes.

"Papa does not approve, of course," admitted Nadia. "I think he wishes that I was still his little girl. He tells me I should save myself for the One." She leered suggestively at Sara, saying, "Or the Two – I cannot decide if I like women or men better, so at minimum I want at least one of both. I can't help it if I'm greedy for love."

That last revelation made Sara splutter, especially when Nadia added that she found Sara very attractive – only the height difference and the exo-pack had stopped her from attempting a seduction. It made it a little difficult to kiss properly.

Something made Sara admit sadly, "I have never kissed anyone."

Now Nadia looked shocked. "Never?"

Sara shook her head.

Nadia looked quickly about her – no one was watching them. "Come," she hissed. "Come with me." The young woman drew Sara off to a small hollow, and told her to lie down. "As your friend, I insist you learn how to kiss properly," said Nadia. "We can't have the first time you kiss a Pandoran boy a disaster because you don't know what to do."

"But you'll suffocate," objected Sara, nonetheless doing as she was told. She had never had a friend before.

"No I won't," replied Nadia. "I have at least twenty seconds before I start losing consciousness if I breathe, and in any case I can hold my breath for over a minute, and even better I'll be on top. There will be no reason to be of concern."

With trepidation and a certain tingling in her extremities Sara watched Nadia kneel by her side, slip off her exo-pack and bend down towards her. As their lips brushed, Sara's eyelids closed, and her heart started pounding. Without thinking, her hands reached up to stroke Nadia's slim body, and her lips parted, allowing Nadia's warm, soft tongue entry to gently caress the inside of her mouth.

Sara lost herself in the kiss, and it was only an insistent tap of a hand on her shoulder that reminded the Avatar what would happen if they kept on. She released her strong grip on Nadia's body and reluctantly allowed her friend to pull away.

Surprisingly, Nadia did not immediately don her exo-pack. Instead, she brushed away a single tear from her cheek, and smiled wistfully. As Nadia replaced the exo-pack on her head and activated the seal, Sara touched her own face to discover tears dampening her skin.

"I wish..." said Sara.

Nadia nodded, "I know." She did not need to say anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

The petite ballet dancer and the tall blue alien with the soul of an autistic girl made a strange pair of friends, thought Phred. Still, there was no hiding the pleasure they had in each other's company. He only had one misgiving – how would Sara react when she had to board the _ISV White Star_ and leave her friend behind?

She had looked happy this morning when he told her that the RDA had agreed to pay her as a junior field researcher, backdated to her induction into the Avatar program. He was, however, curious as to what how the finance department was going to handle the income tax of a woman with a valid death certificate.

He shook his head in dismay. Somehow he had turned into a full-fledged cynic, and he wasn't sure how or when it happened.

* * *

The two young women stopped talking about the best gift to purchase for a new bride as soon as the Major coughed to signal his appearance.

"Sara," he announced. "It is time for you to meet an opponent in combat."

The Avatar was curious as to what was about to happen. She had been hitting punching bags, dummies and assorted other paraphernalia for weeks, and while it was fun, it lacked a little challenge.

However, it was with a little trepidation that she heard the whine of machinery accompanied by a 'thump, pause, thump' noise.

A man wearing an exoskeleton walked into view – a ten foot tall exoskeleton, each foot fall making the 'thump' sound. "Spasybi, Mikhail," said the Major. The exoskeleton operator waved an arm, stopped the fearsome looking machine and turned off its power plant. As the operator unstrapped himself from the ugly machine, the Major said, "I will be operating the exoskeleton as your opponent."

Sara found herself trembling in fright at the thought she would be fighting this machine. A memory flashed into her mind of white-clad orderlies laying into her with batons, as she crouched in a corner screaming.

The Major observed the Avatar's reaction, and said, "Sara, if you do not do this, the weeks I have spent training you will have been wasted."

She nodded shakily, acknowledging his words. The Major was right – if she did not practice his lessons, she would not know if she was capable of defending herself. She whispered to herself, "I am not a victim, I am not a victim." Her fingers flicked, counting upwards from zero in binary, the numbers clear in her mind driving the white ghosts of the orderlies away. "I am not a victim," she repeated.

"There is more I must tell you," said the Major, climbing into the exoskeleton. As the operator fastened the belts holding him in the machine, the Major added, "I will be making loud noises to distract and unfocus you, Sara. I know this disturbs you, and I apologise in advance. However, your future enemies will yell and scream at you, and it is important that you are not disadvantaged by your sensitivity. I will not make this noise to hurt you. Do you understand?"

She had reached thirty-five when he asked for a response. "Yes, sir," she nodded. Sara glanced at Nadia, who gave a reassuring smile.

"Very well," he said kindly. "Now, I am going to attack you slowly with a right punch to the head. You know how to block this." The power plant of the machine whined as it came up to full power.

Still shaking, she bowed in response to the bow of her sensei in the exoskeleton. He moved forward and slowly the right hand of the exoskeleton came towards her head. The correct counter for the blow vanished from her head, and she stood paralysed with indecision as the names of all the fighting moves she had been taught crashed into her consciousness. Sara couldn't choose one response – all she could see were the words, words without meaning.

The Major saw her paralysis and stopped the attack. "What's wrong, Sara?" he asked, the arms of the exoskeleton falling by his side.

"There are t-too many w-words," she stammered, her hands trembling. "I can't s-see the answer."

"I don't understand," he said, frowning deeply, the crease between his eyebrows clearly visible through the exo-pack. "You know the right counter for this move. We've been over this a thousand times."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she shook her head and repeated, "T-too many words."

"Papa," interrupted Nadia. She could see that Sara was struggling to stay present and engaged with them. The Avatar had told her what it was like to suddenly retreat from people when one couldn't deal with what was happening, of how she would vanish into herself. "You've been teaching Sara wrong."

"What?" he exclaimed, turning with incredulity towards his daughter. "How could I be teaching her incorrectly? I am Gennady Khudoshin. I do not make mistakes."

Nadia said, "Sara is not like other people. She thinks in numbers, not words. She doesn't know how to choose between the moves you have been teaching her, not without relating the moves to numbers and the rules between them."

"Shit!" swore the Major. He turned back to Sara and asked, "Is this true?"

Dumbly, Sara nodded. She had flinched when he swore, but was somehow managing to hang on to her control, if only by the very tips of her fingertips.

"Shit!" repeated the Major. "Shit, shit, shit! Why did you not tell me? How could I be so stupid?"

"I didn't know," admitted Sara. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying not to rub at them. She knew from long experience that if she rubbed her eyes would get sore. "I have never done anything like this before, so I didn't know."

The whine of the exoskeleton died as it powered down, the silence matched by the tearing sound of Velcro fasteners being released as the Major ripped off the belts holding him in the exoskeleton. "Damn!" he said. "You are correct, Nadia. I should have taught from the theory first, and then gone to practice, instead of the other way around." He grinned reassuringly at Sara, and called out, "Will someone get me a whiteboard and some pens?"

Slowly, the tremors that had been rippling through Sara's body subsided, as she realised that she was not in trouble for doing something wrong.

* * *

The next several days saw the Major in front of an old-fashioned whiteboard, as he explained the theoretical basis behind his art of taekkyon – using a combination of pictures and simple mathematics to describe the interaction between energy, strike zones and use of limbs to block and strike. Slowly, Sara began to formulate a series of equations in her head to govern the selection of modes of attack and defence against any combination of blows and counters.

She began to understand that combat was an exercise in pattern matching, identifying the forms being used against her, and then selecting the best option to respond. When she said this, the Major told her she was both right and wrong. He said while this was a viable option against a totally unknown opponent who knew nothing of your fighting habits, against one who knew your habits – for lack of a better word – it was a recipe for a rapid defeat.

The Major emphasised it was necessary to retain an element of unpredictability in any combat, even if it meant that one did not select the most effective form for any particular circumstance. Every opportunity should be taken to deceive or mislead an opponent in order to gain the upper hand, even to the extent of surrendering a favourable position temporarily to lead the opponent into over-confidence.

"This is very complex," commented Sara, as she built in a randomising function into her combat equations, wondering how she would ever master this skill.

The Major added, "Do not make the mistake of thinking about your current blow or counter. It is too late, and has already happened – you can't change it. Instead, you should be thinking about what you will be doing in the next five or ten seconds, and about what your opponent is likely to be doing." He grinned broadly, looking more like a young boy than a mature man as he said, "This is the fun part, figuring out how to beat an opponent by anticipating what he is going to do before he knows himself. It is all part of the intellectual challenge of combat."

Nadia suggested, "I think we should show her, Papa."

He flicked an eyebrow up at his daughter as he asked, "Swords?"

His daughter replied, "It's the only form I stand any chance of beating you, Papa. You know that."

"Swords it is then."

* * *

Nadia carried two short swords, double edged with a slight curve to the blade, while her father carried two unequal length weapons, something like a katana and a wakizashi. Father and daughter bowed respectfully to each other and took up guard positions. There they stood for some time, motionless, waiting and watching. Sara could not tell who moved first – all she saw was a sudden blur of movement, accompanied with the clash of steel.

Sara could not pick who was winning – Nadia seemed to move faster, a lot faster, only being kept out by the greater reach of her father's weapons. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed him back, forcing him to give ground, until he yelled, "Hold!"

The combat stopped as suddenly as it began. "You're getting better, Nadia," he commented. "You would have had me with another two strokes."

His daughter grinned, "I know. The only problem was that you would have skewered me when I took the killing blow."

"Not a fatal blow," said the Major. "You would have survived."

Sara had watched the interchange between father and daughter with open mouth. She had been too fascinated to worry about the discordant clash of blade on blade.

"I would prefer to have the use of both my arms," retorted Nadia.

"Are your blades edged?" asked Sara curiously. She had been worrying about the two using metal blades to spar. Any blow, even with blunted weapons, could result in serious injury such as broken bones and serious bruising.

In answer, the Major pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it and threw it in the air. He held his wakizashi edge up and allowed the handkerchief to settle on the shiny blade. With a gentle susurration, the handkerchief fluttered down to the ground, cut into two pieces by its own weight and the impossibly sharp edge of the Major's weapon.

With a gulp, Sara said weakly, "Oh."

* * *

The next time Sara sparred with the Major in the exoskeleton was much more successful - although she found that the bruises did not heal nearly fast enough for her satisfaction.

When she was particularly stiff and sore, tuition would focus on use of the bow. Not unsurprisingly, Sara found she had something of a talent in this area. As she explained to Nadia, it was purely a matter of calculating the trajectory of a projectile through atmosphere. This was easily enough solved through a combination of classical Newtonian mechanics and fluid dynamics. The only difference that she would to remember when shooting on Pandora related to lower gravity and a slight difference in the pressure and composition of the atmosphere. But even that would be simple enough, as these were all known facts on the scientific record.

Nadia's reply to Sara's explanation boiled down to a single word - "What?"

The Major was amused that she used the bow left-handed, and insisted on drawing the bowstring with her left hand upside down - as far as he was concerned. He had tried to get her to change to the standard method of drawing, but every attempt at releasing the bowstring with her thumb pointed up was a dismal failure. It just did not feel right. The Major concluded that there was some subtle difference in Pandoran hand musculature, and did not press her to change.

Curiously enough, Sara found that she used her left hand in preference to her right in almost every action, when as a human she had been decidedly right-handed. She wondered briefly what the significance of this change was, and then just as quickly forgot about it.

* * *

Lissa and Phred's wedding was conducted in the Pandoran dome as the sun set in the west, the few witnesses all compelled to wear exo-packs, except for Sara. She had wanted for it to be in Earth normal atmosphere, so there would be no danger of the happy couple losing consciousness when it came to the part where the groom kisses the bride, but she was overruled. Phred had also quipped that no relationship without a little danger in its beginning would ever go the distance.

Sara frowned and commented that the while the journey to Pandora was five light-years, she did not think the distance travelled would have any significant impact on Lissa and Phred's relationship, even though it was further than any other married couple had travelled. When Lissa and Phred laughed, Sara blushed, and said shyly, "I'm being too literal again, aren't I?"

Amongst the guests for the wedding were Nadia and her father. As soon as the ceremony was over, they begged forgiveness for having to leave, as they both had prior commitments back in Kiev. Sara was sad to see them leave, as they would not return until the following Monday. All too quickly, the dome emptied of people, leaving Sara alone to commune with the forest.

While she was bonded to the willow tree, as was her practice Sara shared her love of her friends – Lissa, Phred, Nadia and even the Major – telling the forest how she felt, and the special things about each of them that made them such distinctive individuals. Sara could feel the forest listening to her, absorbing everything she conveyed to it. She was a little sad, for Sara's tuition would end in two weeks, and she would have to say good-bye to Nadia and her father forever.

Sara was looking south towards Kiev, towards where Nadia and the Major lived, when the southern sky lit up with a brilliant light. The light quickly died, while without even thinking Sara started counting, one number per second. When she got to twenty, the ground started shaking gently, as though there had been a minor earthquake.

Even Sara knew that brilliant lights in the sky followed by earthquakes were unlikely to be natural phenomena.


	7. Chapter 7

No-one came into the dome for hours, leaving Sara hovering by the airlock waiting anxiously for news. She couldn't even get any answers over the net – all connectivity outside of the RDA complex appeared to be down, and numbers were of no comfort.

She waited paralysed until false dawn, when Phred finally appeared from the airlock. Sara was shocked at his drawn appearance, and did not dare to speak.

"Kiev...there was a nuclear bomb," said Phred reluctantly. "In the middle of the city. No-one knows how many dead. It's gone."

"Nadia?" asked Sara.

Phred slowly shook his head. "We haven't heard anything."

Sara felt her heart freeze.

"The RDA has put a rescue team together from the personnel here," said Phred. "They left six hours ago. Lissa went with them – she has more experience with burns than I do. We are setting up a casualty clearing station here. The whole complex is set up with air filters and positive air pressure, so there is no problem with fallout, and we are one of the closest intact facilities still with power and water. There is probably no safer place to be in this hemisphere than right here."

"What can I do?" asked Sara.

Phred grimaced at the Avatar towering over him. "All you can do is wait."

"No," stated Sara. "I will help. My resistance to radioactivity is far greater than that of any human – this is the environment for which I am designed."

"But..." objected Phred. Her Avatar was worth over two hundred million – how could he justify to management endangering that kind of investment.

"Send me out with the next team," she ordered, her face grim.

* * *

The truck was crowded with RDA staff in environment suits and one Avatar sitting on the floor. There was no point standing up, not if Sara wanted to avoid a cricked neck. When the truck started swerving from side to side, obviously avoiding debris on the road, Sara was glad she could not see out.

She looked with disgust at the boots on her feet – Phred had insisted. Sara had little choice but to give in, admitting that he was right. The ground would be littered with debris, and there was no point in inviting injury. She had also given way on a set of coveralls and gloves as well. What was worse was the set of heavy compressed gas cylinders on her back for carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide replenishment. Fortunately, it was set up as a rebreather system, so she should be able to last several days without a refill.

"Can you smell it?" commented one of the humans.

Sara was thankful that the exo-pack scrubbed out virtually all smells. She suspected that otherwise her sensitive nose would already be curling in dismay, and adjusted her knee and elbow guards so they were a little more comfortable.

* * *

The truck ground to a halt. Sara waited for the six humans with her to disembark before attempting to get out of the vehicle.

As she stood up, a voice cried out, "What the fuck is that?"

Sara bared her teeth, showing her long canines, and flipped her finger at the speaker. Nadia had told her answering any obscenities with the insolent gesture would shut anyone up - especially given the length of her fingers.

One of the RDA personnel snapped, "Her name is Sara, dipshit. Get used to it – in a few years you're going to see a lot more like her."

The mustering point was packed with people and equipment from all over the world – fire crews, rescue squads, demolition teams. The hubbub died down as Sara's towering figure made its way through the crowd, every available camera pointed squarely in her direction.

She stopped in front of a man wearing a vest that proclaimed him to be the area incident controller. "You're the...um...Avatar?" he asked tentatively, looking warily up at the alien creature towering over him.

"Yes," growled Sara. "My hearing is more acute than a dog's. I should be able to locate the living under the debris."

"Good," he replied firmly, apparently having made an instant decision. "We don't have enough rescue dogs given the size of the disaster area. If you can take your team into sector Gamma-7, you can start there. Locate any survivors and log their position for the recovery teams, and move on. We have more than enough grunt labour to dig people out – identification of survivors is our biggest problem."

Sara nodded.

The controller added, "Watch your dosimeter. The device was a ground burst. The fallout is as hot as hell there."

"It wasn't a device," said Sara flatly. "It was a bomb. Devices do not kill people." She stalked off in the direction of her sector, her team of six running to keep up with her, leaving the incident controller shaking his head in disbelief at what had just happened.

* * *

The stately city of Kiev was no more. The streets were strewn with smashed and burned out vehicles, and Sara was thankful she had worn boots – there was broken and smashed glass everywhere. Her feet would have been sliced to ribbons.

The city had stubbornly remained low-rise, and had been known world-wide for the graciousness of its tree-lined avenues. Many of the buildings had slumped into rubble, partially blocking the way into her search area. The towering statue of the Rodina overlooking the city was now just a blackened stump, like the few tower blocks that had formerly dotted the horizon. They now looked like rotting teeth in the face of a corpse.

Sara very carefully did not look into the shells of the vehicles littering the streets, but despite her care she could not fail to see the blackened corpses inside. She stopped, holding up one hand, asking for quiet. Her ears twitched, flicking one way then the other.

"In there," she said, pointing to a building. "Third floor, thirty-four metres from here – you will find two people still alive." One of the RDA crew tapped the details in to his data tablet, and they moved on.

That set the pattern – Sara frequently stopped, listening carefully, and told her crew where people were still living. Once she stopped, and as she was about to announce the position of yet another injured survivor, she sighed, "Too late. He died."

Her team worked slowly through the streets of her sector, gradually working closer to ground zero, when they encountered something that wrenched at her hard-won detachment.

It was a broad avenue, one of the main retail streets of Kiev – a crowded pedestrian mall - that had been packed solid with people when the device – no, the bomb – when the bomb had been detonated. It must have been in direct line of sight with the explosion, not shielded by buildings or trees. The smooth polymerised surface of the footpaths and roadway had instantly softened under the torrent of heat from the detonation. The following blast wave had knocked down those people who had not instantly been killed by the flash, sticking them like insects on flypaper. You could see where the living had struggled to free themselves from the entrapping glue, vainly rippling the surface around them, to no avail. Their bones and blackened flesh had become one with the road.

On a smooth wall, still standing upright, Sara could see the shadows of five people, burnt into the concrete by the flash, the only other remnant of their existence their footprints.

Even now, almost a day later, the surface of the roadway was still sticky.

Sara felt her innards churn. Unbidden, her mind divided up the mall space into squares and counted the glued corpses in the roadway, and instantly produced an estimate that there were over five thousand people embedded in the pavement.

She ripped off her exo-pack, explosively expelling the contents of her stomach. Then she made a mistake – Sara breathed in.

Her nostrils filled with the stench of burnt flesh and plastic, intimately mixed with smoke and dust. Her stomach heaved again, trying to rid itself of disgust, but all that came up was a thin trickle of bile.

Sara was not the only one in her team with that same reaction.

As she wiped her mouth and replaced her mask, one of the RDA team said, "Come on, Sara. There is nothing we can do here."

She was about to agree when her ears twitched. There was a sound, a natural sound, a sound of life. Sara ran across the pavement, trying to ignore the crunching of burnt flesh and clothing under the soles of her boots. When she reached the pile of rubble, she started heaving the debris away, ripping at the broken concrete with her superhuman strength. Rapidly, she uncovered the bloody and burnt body of a man, his back to the explosion, arched above – something? Gently, she eased it out from under the stone to reveal the corpse of a young woman, cradling her child, protecting it from the destruction that had engulfed them. The child – a girl no more than two years old – was still alive, but only just.

"Sa'nok si sempul yawne nga 'eveng," whispered Sara with reverence.

"What did you say?" asked one of the RDA team, scrambling up the pile of rubble. He had never heard words like that – they sounded like the wind in branches of trees, or of water running swiftly over rocks. In this place of death they sounded like the music of life.

Sara shook her head out of her momentary reverie. "Her mother and father loved her," answered Sara. "They sacrificed their own lives for hers." She eased the unconscious girl out of the pile, away from the embrace of her dead mother, and gently passed it to the only female of the team. The woman turned to run and take the girl to the nearest aid station when Sara commanded, "Wait!"

Sara quickly searched the remains of the clothing of the two adults and pulled out two slim wallets containing ID cards. "This girl needs to know the name of her parents," she announced, carefully unfolding the documents. "They were Stefan Uluta and Irina Kydora – do you have the names?"

"Yes," affirmed the woman, and left at a dead run.

* * *

They searched for five days, hardly taking any rest. Every day the team were pulled back and processed through decontamination showers, their skin scrubbed almost raw, and their dosimeters checked for excessive exposure to radiation. Two of the team were pulled out after day three and started receiving treatment for radiation exposure, but the others were clear.

On the fifth day, Sara only found one living person, in the morning, just after dawn.

The rescue teams were withdrawn at midnight that evening.

As Sara returned to the mustering point, journalists and cameramen swarmed around her, shouting questions at her and hurting her ears, the ears that had strained to hear signs of life for five days. Sara snarled at them, baring her teeth, warning them to back off and to leave her alone.

The man from RDA Public Affairs was there, the man she had seen on the first Vomit Comet flight. He called out, "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I would like to introduce you to Sara, the first member of the RDA Avatar team. Come here, Sara."

Reluctantly, Sara did as she was bid walking up to the man from RDA headquarters. "If you could keep your voices quiet and refrain from flash photography, ladies and gentlemen. Sara's senses are very acute – bright lights and loud noises cause her pain."

"Thank you," she murmured in gratitude to the man.

The man continued, "The Avatar program was developed to enable men and women to operate cloned alien bodies on Pandora, the living moon of a gas giant planet orbiting Alpha Centauri A. Sara is due to leave on the next starship in one week's time, but she volunteered to help in the search for survivors of this horrific incident. The abilities of her Avatar, especially her acute hearing and resistance to radiation, provided great assistance to the rescue effort here in Kiev."

"Sara, how many survivors did you locate?" called out a reporter.

"Eight hundred and twenty-one," automatically answered Sara. She turned to the Public Affairs man to ask, "I am very tired now. Can I go home?"

The man smiled gently and said, "Lissa is waiting for you in the truck. Go now."

She nodded and left, ignoring the crowds of media people. Of course, when you were four feet taller and sixty kilos heavier than any of them, it was easy to push your way through a crowd.

Sara went through decontamination for the final time, her radioactivity well within limits – at least for an Avatar. The man from Public Affairs was as good as his word – Lissa was waiting for her in the RDA truck she came in – Sara could tell. The serial number and bar code on the rear door was the same, so it must have been the same truck – if the RDA was complying with local vehicle registration regulations, of course.

Lissa stood to greet the Avatar, but something in Sara's face stopped her friend from greeting Sara, who just scrambled to the front of the load space and curled up in the corner. Clearly Sara did not want to speak or associate to anyone. After the door slammed, Lissa heard Sara reciting numbers, "Two thousand nine hundred and fifty-three, two thousand nine hundred and fifty-seven, two thousand nine hundred and sixty-three..."

"What numbers are you counting, Sara?" asked Lissa quietly.

"Prime numbers," replied Sara. "I am up to the four hundred and twenty-seventh prime number."

"Why are you counting prime numbers?" pursued Lissa.

There was a small snuffle, as if of tears, before Sara answered, "Prime numbers are sharp and hard – they cut at me, make me hurt, like broken glass. I am trying to forget what I saw, but the pictures – the numbers won't send them away. I saw a street..." She could not go on talking.

Lissa carefully crossed the swaying vehicle to sit alongside the Avatar, and placed a hand on the smooth shoulder. "I know, my child. No-one should ever have to see what you have seen."

"Why do people do such things?" asked Sara. The touch of Lissa's small hand somehow made her relax. It was strange – usually she hated people touching her. She had to keep an iron grip on herself to stop lashing out while she was being scrubbed in decontamination. "Are there more people like the orderlies who beat me? Even worse, like the ones that killed all those people with the bomb?"

"Yes," admitted Lissa sadly. "There are."

There was several minutes silence until Sara lifted her face to gaze at her foster mother. The tear-encrusted face with the huge golden eyes was like a dagger to Lissa's heart, as Sara said, "I don't want to stay here anymore – on Earth. I want to leave." She sighed, lowered her head and whispered to herself, "Oe neu ne kä kelku."

Lissa did not hear the final words that Sara spoke, the words that she could not have known how to speak, in a language unknown by any human. How could Sara go home as she wanted, when she had never been there? Instead of answering her whispered request, Lissa said, "There is a shuttle leaving for orbit and the _ISV White Star _tomorrow, at noon. We can be on it."

Sara did not reply. She had fallen into a deep sleep, and dreamt of nothing all night but the forest, filled with trees without number.


	8. Chapter 8

It was after dawn before Sara woke. Someone had carried her into the dome, to lay her by the willow tree – they must have used the exoskeleton that the Major...she could not complete the thought, although the tracks were there as plain as the light of day.

If she was to leave today, she would have to say good-bye to the forest that had nurtured her, the forest that had listened to her and loved her as no-one else – except for Lissa. Sara stood and linked with a frond of the willow, swaying on her feet with her eyes shut, being the forest under the dome. She felt for every plant linked with the tree, expressing her love and sorrow that she was leaving forever, never to return.

A whisper echoed in her head, 'Eywa never forsakes her children.'

"Sara! What are you doing?" cried Lissa with alarm.

Sara turned towards her foster mother, but did not unlink from the tree. "Saying good-bye to the forest," she answered. "She will be lonely here without me here. It is a long way from where she should be."

"But we don't know the function of your queue," cried Lissa anxiously. "It could be very dangerous."

"I have being linking with the forest for many months now, and it has done me no harm," Sara replied calmly. She paused,stroking the frond attached to her queue as she added, "She has made me calmer."

Lissa did not press the Avatar any further, instead conveying the news that had woken her from restless slumber. "Nadia is here."

"What?" cried out the Avatar. "She is alive?" Sara broke the link without thinking. She had to see Nadia now, immediately.

"She was brought in last night, while you were asleep. All RDA employees and immediate families that were injured by the bomb have been moved to this facility," advised Lissa. "The records show she was taken to an aid station three days ago." Lissa bit her lower lip and added, "She may not survive."

* * *

A climate controlled warehouse had been converted into a vast hospital ward, filled with shattered human bodies resting on camp beds. They had been made to scrub before they entered, to prevent carriage of pathogens into the sterile area.

Lissa guided Sara down one of the aisles until she stopped at one bed. She picked up the old fashioned clipboard to study the patient's condition and frowned.

Sara did not recognise her at first. Nadia was lying face down on the bed, naked – no, she was not naked. No-one whose body was weeping with clear fluid and blood under the transparent dressings could be thought of as naked. The glory of her long brown hair had vanished, except for a few wisps, and the left side of her face was burnt. Sara could not see the right side.

It was obscene, thought Sara, that someone so beautiful could be so damaged through an act of such hatred and brutality.

Lissa said, "She has second and third degree burns over forty-five percent of her body – she was facing away from the blast. Both her legs are broken, along with two ribs and her left arm, not to mention perforated eardrums, burns to the vocal chords and trachea, with some damage to the upper lobes of the lungs. It's amazing that she is still alive. Most people would have died within six hours of these injuries."

"So Nadia can't hear you," said Sara.

Lissa's answer was succinct. "No."

"Good." The Avatar knelt by the injured woman, and touched her pillow. There didn't appear to be anywhere visible her skin was undamaged.

Amazingly, Nadia's left eye flickered open and she tried to smile. Her voice was so hoarse and strained it was almost inaudible. "Sara," she whispered.

Sara almost snatched the clipboard and pen away from Lissa. She wrote – you will live.

"Don't know," said Nadia. "Hurts. They say will not dance again. Papa dead. No music. Not worth living." Her eye, the eye that had sparkled with life and joy and mischievousness, was flat and dull.

'NO!' wrote Sara, underlining that single word savagely. 'You must live. For me.' She did not notice that Lissa had drawn away, to give the two friends a little privacy, if privacy could be had in a space like this.

Nadia closed her eye, and was still for over a minute. Her words must have cost her greatly. Sara wrote furiously, underlining many words. She did not know how she knew what she wrote, but nonetheless – she knew.

When Nadia reopened her eye, she read, 'Eywa – the forest – knows you. I told her, and she has felt your spirit among the trees. You will live, and dance again - as an Avatar. She wants you to come to Pandora. I do too.'

A dark light flared in Nadia's eye, and her left hand shot out to grab Sara's wrist. "Truth?" she demanded in her hoarse whisper. Sara nodded in agreement. Nadia relaxed her hand and allowed it to slip back on to the bed, flinching as it brushed against her pillow. She added, "Good. Trust you." Suddenly she started to cough, spots of blood appearing on the white linen pillow case.

Lissa said firmly, "That's enough, Sara. I don't think Nadia should talk anymore."

"I know," replied Sara. She wrote three more words on the clipboard, and showed them to Nadia, once she stopped coughing. Nadia smiled her painful smile, and silently mouthed the same words back to her.

"I love you."

* * *

The interior of the shuttle looked much like the interior of the Vomit Comet, but without the padding on the ceiling, floor and walls. It was clear that all excess weight had been stripped out of the vessel, that all creature comforts had been sacrificed for additional payload lift.

It had not taken long to pack her gear for the flight to Alpha Centauri A. There were only the weapons – a bow, a knife and her quarter staff – that she had used in lessons with the Major and Nadia, a couple of loincloths and some jewellery she had been given by her friends, and some of the RDA staff, and her wooden blocks. She really had no idea why she had packed them – Sara did not need them any longer, but perhaps they would be a nice gift for a native child, although when she thought of giving them away there was a catch in her throat.

Most of her remaining time before boarding the shuttle was given to arranging payment of her salary and savings into a trust account for Nadia Khudoshin. Phred had tried to argue against this action. He was left on shaky ground when Sara pointed out that she would never be returning to Earth, no matter what the company thought. While she loved the plants in the dome, Sara had no intention of remaining a hostage to the whim of RDA executives, who could easily give orders to terminate her and shut down the dome without any legal penalty. No amount of money would do Sara any good in those circumstances.

Phred was left without a single word of reply, especially when Lissa sided with her foster daughter.

After the argument finished, all she had was a little time to record a message for Nadia, and to say good-bye to the RDA staff she had come to know during her time in the dome.

The man from RDA Public Affairs – whose name she had never learnt – was at the airfield with a film crew. It seemed that the first Avatar was big news across the entire world. The man had thanked her for her work in Kiev – it had generated hugely favourable publicity for the company, and candidate applications were pouring in for the first round of volunteers for the Avatar program.

Sara mumbled something inconsequential in reply, eager to be away, but tried to be polite. The man seemed genuine and honest, and even though the camera made her feel nervous, Sara was not obliged to retreat to the world of numbers when dealing with him.

As she looked doubtfully at the jump seats lining each side of the shuttle, the loadmaster came up to her. "G'day, Bluey," he said in a friendly manner. To any student of the English language, it was obvious that this man was an Australian. "My name is Jacko, and I will be your loadmaster for this flight."

"Hi, Jacko," replied Sara, correctly surmising that she was being addressed by a nickname. After all, she was the only person who was significantly blue present. From the expectant expression on his face she thought she was supposed to laugh, or at least make some gesture beyond a vocal acknowledgement, so she smiled hesitantly at him. She glanced at Phred and Lissa who were already strapping in to their allocated jump seats, and asked, "Where do I sit?"

There were no other passengers on the shuttle, just a mass of cargo on pallets in the middle of the shuttlecraft. It was clear, however, that she would not fit in the jump seats, not unless she wanted to fly with her knees on either side of her ears.

Ok, she thought, that was an exaggeration, but not by much.

"Well," mused Jacko, scratching his bald head vigorously. "We've got a bit of a choice. I can strap you to the floor like a piece of deck cargo, but all the blood will rush to your head or your feet, depending which way we point you." As Sara was about to object to that option, he added, "Nah, I don't think you'd like that. How about we fasten you to the forward bulkhead? It should be more comfortable if your eyeballs stay in their sockets. There aren't any specs on your tolerance to g-force, and just before max-Q we are pulling a little under four-g. Shall we risk it? If you're worried you could hold your hands over your eyes to hold them in."

She was about to object when she glanced at Phred and Lissa, to see they were grinning at her. Sara stamped her foot with annoyance and accused Jacko, "You're teasing me."

Holding up his hands in surrender, Jacko grinned, "You've got me, darl. Just pulling your leg a little." Involuntarily Sara glanced down at her feet to see if anyone was pulling her leg, before she realised the loadmaster was using another colloquialism. "You've got a real treat in store," he said kindly. "You've got a great seat behind the co-pilot – there was enough room to put in a larger seat, with leg-room to spare. The seat has even got straps for your gas cylinders, so they won't be rolling around. You'll be able to see everything the pilots do, and I sit alongside just in case anything goes wrong."

Sara's face ran hot with embarrassment mixed with pleasure. "Irayo," she whispered.

"What was that?" he asked, a little puzzled. "I didn't hear what you said."

"Thank you," she repeated, a little more loudly. She really would have to stop mumbling her words.

* * *

There wasn't that much space behind the co-pilot's seat, Sara noted, although it was a lot more comfortable than the alternatives would have been. She had to crab-crawl through the airlock feet first to get there - squeezing into her seat was like trying to pull on army boots and tying the laces using nothing but her teeth.

However, once Jacko strapped her in and she was done with her contortions, Sara found the view was worth it. She could see over the co-pilot's shoulder to view almost all of the instruments and controls. Not only that, she also had an excellent view through the cockpit windscreen, as well as the overhead windows used during the final stages of rendezvous and docking. It seemed that the pilots were a conservative bunch, and did not place total reliance on automated systems. Why, the pilot was even using a paper checklist while the co-pilot was checking off each item in the flight control system.

She did not interrupt, recognising the intense focus of the flight crew as they worked the procedure. Even Jacko's voice was professional as they queried him with the status of the payload – including, of course, the three passengers, who Jacko had jocularly referred to as self-loading freight.

There was a pause in the checklist, when the pilot turned around and said, "Hi Sara." Her voice was a warm contralto that matched her strong Mediterranean features and flashing dark eyes. "My name is Xenia, and my partner here is Rob."

The co-pilot grunted a welcome, still deeply involved doing something with the systems of the shuttlecraft.

Xenia said, "Don't mind Rob. He's a bit of a grouch."

"Hi," replied Sara. Hesitatingly she asked, "I noticed you still use a lot of manual procedures as well as autocheckout. Is there a reason behind this?"

Xenia's teeth were very white as she smiled and replied, "Pilots are a conservative bunch. We like to think we can still fly a bird without any electronic systems, just by the seat of our pants. You never know if the whole electronic house of cards is going to come crashing down. We train for orbital manoeuvres without any electronic assistance, just using our sextant, a slide rule and the stellar observation scope next to the overhead windows."

"What about re-entry?" asked Sara curiously. "Can you do that without any systems?"

For some strange reason Xenia blushed as she said, "The manuals say it can't be done."

The co-pilot – Rob – interrupted, "Xenia is the only pilot to have taken a shuttle from re-entry interface to landing completely in manual mode, Sara. It was the first flight of the Valkyrie prototype eight years ago. She saved the entire program from cancellation."

"It was more luck than skill," said Xenia modestly.

"Last time I heard they don't give out the Collier Trophy just for luck," drawled Rob. "The backroom boys are still trying to figure out how you did it, but I know how."

"How?" asked Sara.

"Xenia here is a natural born stick and rudder girl," commented Rob. "That's why I fly with her – I keep on hoping some of her talent is going to rub off."

"You wish," retorted Xenia in good-natured banter.

What followed was a very interesting discussion – at least to Sara – about the application of orbital mechanics to manual flight regimes, which led her to understand that there was a lot more to practical application of mathematics to real life problems than just a knowledge of theory. Obviously, she still had a lot to learn – but there was one other advantage to the discussion.

She didn't have time to worry about being launched into orbit in a spacecraft built by the lowest bidder.


	9. Chapter 9

The takeoff roll was much like the start of the ride in the Vomit Comet – a smooth progression into the air. The pilots communicated in brief words, both with the control tower and with each other, their competence reflected in their calm expressions.

In no time at all, the shuttle had levelled out and was at sixty thousand feet. Through the cockpit windows, Sara could see the vast expanse of the steppes marked out in the checkerboard of agriculture, the only thing interrupting the geometric shapes the wriggling lines of watercourses.

"Engage SCRAMjets," said Xenia.

There was a pregnant pause, until there was the sound of an explosion from the rear of the shuttlecraft, and Sara was slammed back into her seat by brutal acceleration. The shuttlecraft vibrated and shook violently as the sky outside faded to black, and all sight of the Earth disappeared.

"Max Q," announced Xenia, her voice unflappable and clear over the shuddering of the shuttle.

Apparently the violence was normal for a shuttle flight.

"Reactor nominal," advised Rob. "We don't have much atmosphere left."

The vibration was easing, smoothing out as the atmosphere thinned, although the acceleration did not let up, until there was a sound like 'pop' from the rear. They were all thrown forward in their straps as the acceleration peaked and suddenly cut off.

"SCRAMjet engine cut-off. Engage NERVA," commanded Xenia.

A gentle yet relentless hand pressed Sara back into her seat when the fusion drive cut in, the shuddering vibration of the SCRAMjets replaced by the muted roar of the fusion engine. Sara was relieved, because if it hadn't been for the calm voices of the pilots, she was positive the shuttle would have shaken itself to pieces from the rough ride.

"EOI in five seconds on my mark," announced Rob. "Mark."

Sure enough, the roar of the engine died away. Xenia twisted in her seat to face Sara with a smile. "Welcome to Low Earth orbit. Rob will flip us over so you can see the view."

Sure enough the shuttle rotated around its long axis, bringing the Earth into view above the spacecraft. Or was it below? There was a sudden intake of breath as Sara took in the beauty of the planet below. From this height the works of man were hardly visible, except for one – the deforestation of the land. Much of the land that had formerly been green was now brown, the forest replaced by vast chequered fields of grain, planted to feed the teeming multitudes of Earth.

Despite the browning of the land, the Earth was still beautiful. Xenia smiled at the expression on Sara's alien face and commented, "It still gets me every time, too."

Sara replied, "I won't ever see Earth again." She turned away from the glorious sight to undo her restraints. Sara wanted to see how Lissa and Phred, were, and take the opportunity to enjoy free-fall once again.

The two pilots looked at her strangely at her, Rob asking hesitantly, "You aren't returning?"

"No," replied Sara. "My human body died. There is nothing for me here."

"But..." started Xenia. "But the RDA said..." She stopped, as though she realised what she was saying. "The bastards!" she swore.

The last buckle had come undone and Sara slithered out of her seat. She touched Xenia gently on the shoulder with her elongated alien hand and smiled wistfully. "Thank you for showing me the world of my birth. I will never forget it."

As she oriented herself to leave the cockpit, there was a sudden rasping snore. Jacko had slept through the entire launch.

* * *

Sara did not see the docking of the shuttle with the starship. When she swam up the docking tunnel into the starship, she did not glance at the single viewport. The single crewman detailed to guide them to the cryo module looked at her with strangely. She wasn't sure what the expression on his face meant, until he snarled, "Fucking smurf!"

It seemed that the crewman had prior experience of the Pandoran natives, and was expressing dislike of her person, Sara realised. That strange expression he wore must be a combination of dislike and hatred, given the tone of his voice and his words. It was strange to be disliked for no other reason than her appearance, and most unprofessional. After all, he knew nothing of her personality – he did not See her soul at all, so how could he make a reasoned judgement?

Lissa's cool voice cut through the air. "Do you have a problem, crewman?" There was no immediate answer, so Lissa continued, "I believe I asked you a question. Do me the courtesy of providing an answer." The tone of Lissa's voice could have cut glass, and even Sara knew that the crewman was in big trouble if he did not provide an instant answer.

"No, ma'am," he answered, his surly face set as though he had just sucked on a particularly potent lemon.

"Good," she replied. By her next words Lissa had read the badge on his coveralls, as she advised, "Schmidt, it cost several hundred million dollars to produce Sara. I'm sure the captain will want to know that the investment is safe in your capable hands. I know him well, and am sure that he will assign personal responsibility to you for Lissa's safety during the voyage, as a favour to me." She smiled sweetly at the man, continuing, "I believe the captain has substantial judicial powers at his disposal, to properly administer this vessel in flight and ensure it is run competently – the power of life and death, so to speak."

The expression on Schmidt's face had shifted yet again. "No, ma'am, it isn't necessary to speak to the captain," he responded fearfully.

Lissa nodded. "I suggest you return to your duty station, Schmidt. I know the way to the cryo chambers quite well."

He needed no more encouragement, the frightened man fled down the central corridor back to the crew module.

Phred said admiringly, "Shit, you can be pretty fucking scary when you put your mind to it, Lissa."

"Can't I just," she grinned back.

Sara was confused. How was Lissa being scary? She hadn't threatened the man – Schmidt – with violence at all. Instead, she had just exchanged some innocuous words with him, expressing a desire to have him assigned to ensure Sara's own safety, and noting some of the powers of the captain. There was clearly some subtext here that she was missing. She shook her head in dismay, thinking that she would never understand humans.

It did not strike Sara that this was the first time she had truly thought of herself as not belonging to humanity.

* * *

The IV feeds for the cryo hibernation drugs itched. Sara had to restrain herself from tearing them out from her arm so she could scratch.

Lissa saw the irritation on her face. "It's ok, my child. You'll be asleep soon, and when you wake up we will be at Pandora."

"Will I dream?" asked Sara drowsily. The initial preparation of the cryo drugs was even now taking effect, but it was more important to know about her dreams. Since she had been placed into her Avatar body they were much more vivid.

"I don't think so," replied Lissa, maneuvering the Avatar into the outsize cryo chamber. She knew that no human had ever dreamed in cryo, but a Pandoran? Sara giggled as Phred tried to fasten her errant limbs within the restraints. It tickled.

Sara said, "The one who used this chamber before me has gone to Eywa. I can feel the trace of his spirit." She turned to gaze at Lissa and dreamily added, "He was used to make me – him and the others. One two three four, all four of them have gone to be with Eywa. I can count them, but they had to journey so far to go home."

Lissa watched the golden eyes behind the exo-pack slowly close, a shiver running down her spine. How had Sara known that four of the Pandoran natives had been captured and transported to Earth? She bit the inside of her cheek. Only a few on the cloning research team had known of the source of the genetic material.

"It's alright," said Phred reassuringly to his wife, misinterpreting the source of her doubt. "This is the best option for her – for Sara." He reached behind Sara's head to slip off the exo-pack mask, and pressed the button to activate the outsize cryo unit. As it slid shut, he reaffirmed, "She will be fine."

"It's not Sara I'm worried about," replied Lissa. "It's us – humanity. Pandora is not our world. We have no right to do this."

Phred had no answer.

* * *

At first the dreams seemed to be a repeat of her life, as though someone was riffling through her days of existence, flicking through her memories like the pages of a book. Some were visited only once, but others she experienced again and again.

It was only later that Sara dreamed of the forest – the forest that was only enclosed by the great blue dome of an alien sky.


	10. Chapter 10

From orbit, Pandora looked much like Earth, except there was much more green than brown, the continents were unfamiliar, and the polar icecaps tiny in comparison to Earth's, even after the impact of global warming on humanity's home world. It was clearly a warmer world than Earth, despite its position outside the golden life zone of Alpha Centauri A.

Obviously, the greenhouse of effect of so much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, and the immense amount of heat given off by the gas giant around which it orbited had something to do with its climate.

However, there was no denying that it was a beautiful world – even more beautiful than Earth. Of course, the immense bulk of Polyphemus and its spectacular swirling storms made a magnificent backdrop for any world. The only thing missing was a ring system such as that of Saturn, although Lissa thought that might be adding too much of a good thing. One did not want to overdose on cosmological beauty every time one looked out of a window – there was sufficient danger of that occurring already.

Immediately she had been awoken she had made a call to the human outpost on Pandora. Perhaps not surprisingly it had acquired the name Hell's Gate. Lissa fumed when she was told that few of the preparations she requested almost six years ago had been made. The site administrator had told her bluntly the first priority had been establishing a defensible perimeter and living quarters, and removing overburden for the open cut mine. He sincerely regretted – although the tone of his voice said something else entirely – that there had been no progress on buildings or growing food for Avatars.

Lissa was furious, but there was nothing she could do. The only authority that could put the administrator's ass in a sling was over five light years away, and the prick of an administrator had control over all superluminal communication messages – leaving any other method with a ten year turnaround time. He was his own tin-pot king in his little kingdom.

No wonder the bastard looked so fucking smug.

Phred felt his wife grow tense just thinking about it. He said quietly, "We'll deal with it, Lissa. Sara will be fine."

"It's just..." said Lissa, and sighed.

"I know," he replied. They floated in silence before the viewport for several minutes until he said, "It means that Sara has to go out into the forest sooner rather than later. This is what we have been training her for, after all. A few days or weeks won't make any real difference." He gripped her hand reassuringly.

* * *

Now she knew what it felt like to have elephants using her body as a stage for a tap-dancing concert. Sara was sore all over, her mouth tasted like ash – not that she knew what ash really tasted like, but she was pretty sure if she tried it would taste exactly like her mouth did now – and her head was throbbing.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her face against her shoulder – as soon as the cryo unit opened she would have to put on an exo-pack. Only a few more hours, and she would never have to wear one again - assuming, of course, that she was actually in orbit around Pandora. Unfortunately, inside the cryo unit there was little objective evidence for her current location.

The unit cracked open, and the faces she was hoping to see – Lissa and Phred – were waiting there. Sara did not attempt to speak – there was no point in wasting her only good lungful of air. Instead, she quickly undid the restraints and took the exo-pack mask from Phred, fitting it over her head with the smoothness of long practice.

As soon as the mask hissed, indicating that the facial seal was good, she started to breathe again, smelling the familiar scent of sterilised plastic scented with some disinfectant that pretended to be lemon. "Are we there yet?" she asked, and frowned when both Phred and Lissa chuckled. Had she made a joke?

"Yes," answered a smiling Lissa. "We're in orbit right now."

"I'm hungry," said Sara. "Is there anything to eat?"

The smiles disappeared from both of her foster parent's faces. It seemed that Sara had touched a raw nerve. "I'm afraid not," said Phred. "You'll have to go without until we can get out into the forest and collect some fruit. It should only be a couple of hours after we land."

Something had gone wrong, thought Sara.

Further thought along those lines was promptly halted in its tracks when Lissa said, "There is a v-mail for you from Nadia."

* * *

The progress dial quickly circled around as the data tablet loaded the v-mail, revealing Nadia's face. Sara breathed a sigh of relief – despite the scarring on her left cheek, she still looked like Nadia, still astonishingly beautiful. It seemed that Nadia's dark brown locks had grown back, as her hair was cut stylishly in a short bob. She looked to still be in some kind of hospital, by the institutional colour of the walls behind her, and the loose pale green clothing she was wearing.

"Has it started yet?" asked Nadia, turning her head to one side. Her voice was no longer hoarse and whispery – it looked like her vocal chords had recovered, but her words sounded flat and expressionless, very unlike the almost musical quality of the voice that Sara remembered.

An off-screen male voice said, "Yes."

Nadia turned back towards the screen and smiled. "Hi, Sara. They tell me you should get this message in five years' time, when you wake up from cryo. I wanted to say thank you, and to let you know that I will be ok. Today I'm being discharged from hospital, although I still have to do a lot of physical therapy."

She swallowed once, and Sara noticed that Nadia was resting her hands on the desk before her, clenching her fists tightly. "The doctors were correct in that I will never dance again – not in this body. Not only am I profoundly deaf, but I caught meningitis in hospital. It permanently damaged my inner ears, so now I can't balance properly. I even need a stick to walk so I don't fall over, although they tell me with practice I won't need one."

Sara fought back tears as she saw the pain and loss on Nadia's face, as she remembered what Nadia had said the first time they had met – 'Dance is my life'.

"I was transferred to hospital in California," she said. "That's where I am now. It really doesn't make any difference where I live – everyone I knew from before is gone." Nadia brushed a tear from her cheek as she admitted, "They never found Papa."

Nadia was silent for several seconds as she fought for control of her emotions, before she managed to say, "I've been offered partial scholarship to Stanford, one that covers tuition. I want to study anthropology and linguistics. Yes, I know it's going to be difficult to do that when I'm deaf, but I always liked challenge. At least I don't need any maths – you should remember how bad I am with numbers. Not only do I not need maths, I have five languages now – Ukrainian, Russian, English, French _and_ ASL."

"If it hadn't been for you – for your generosity," continued Nadia. "I wouldn't be able to take up the scholarship. Survivor's benefits will barely keep me fed, let alone give me clothes and shelter, or pay medical bills." She took hold of her hair with one hand and dragged off the wig, turning her face from one side to the other, ruthlessly displaying her injuries to the camera. Her head and neck were red raw with keloid scars and healing skin grafts, and there was no sign of her left ear other than a hole in the side of her head. Her right ear was not much better. "The rest of me looks much the same, so I'm afraid I'm no prize in employment stakes."

Sara found that she was gripping the monitor desk so tightly that the plastic surface was starting to crack beneath her fingers.

Nadia replaced her wig and smiled wrily. "There has been distinct lack of action on sexual front, as well. Not that it matters – what is left of my skin hurts too much for sex to be any fun, and there hasn't been much opportunity, or privacy for that matter. Although," she said slyly, her eyes sliding to the left, "One of my rehabilitation therapists is very cute, and has been flirting with me for last month. From available evidence he has absolutely enormous..."

"Hey!" objected the unseen male voice.

"...ego," finished Nadia, "He is just too damn yummy for his own good."

Sara was relieved. Despite her injuries and her sadness, Nadia was still Nadia.

"Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck, and let you know I will be ok," she said. "I have been thinking about Eywa's message. I have every intention of doing what she suggested, so who knows?" Nadia lifted her head proudly, an indomitable fire blazing in her eyes. "I might be turning up on your doorstep sooner than you expect."

Nadia's hands made a series of signs that echoed the words she spoke, "Love you."

The screen faded to black.

Sara whispered back over the light years, "I love you too."

* * *

Unlike her ride into Earth orbit, the shuttle cargo bay was already packed with people and gear when Sara swam down the docking tube and through the airlock. She felt a multitude of eyes upon her, and heard the many whispers, ranging from 'fucking smurf' to 'she is enormous' to 'my god'. This time she would not be riding in the cockpit – Xenia and Rob had stayed on Earth, some other less friendly pilots taking their place.

One of the less attractive options she had been presented by Jacko was how she was going to fly down to the surface – strapped to the forward bulkhead with a cargo net along with the little baggage she carried. At least the deceleration wasn't going to be eyeballs out.

"Are you comfortable?" asked the loadmaster. "Is the net pinching you anywhere?"

She flexed her muscles and tried to move. The net was holding her firmly in position. "I'm fine," she answered.

"Good," he grinned at her. "You're the last piece of cargo to strike down."

The tone in his voice indicated that he was making a subtle joke at her expense. Perhaps it was the reference to her as cargo? After a lengthy discussion with Nadia regarding the subtleties of humour, Sara had learnt that an appropriate response to such a sally was to say with a wry smile, "Thank you very much."

The loadmaster's grin got even broader. "You're welcome," he replied.

It seemed she had got that particular interaction correct. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, and started to think about numbers. More specifically, Sara was curious as to why prime numbers hurt her head so much. She had been thinking about this for a while, and had come across an unsolved problem on the web that might bring some meaning to her problem with primes.

It was an interesting problem, almost three hundred years old, and when Sara thought about it she could almost hear the prime numbers singing to her, singing to her of the hidden patterns underlying the Universe.

While Sara was pursuing a solution to the Riemann hypothesis, the shuttle had undocked, fired its deorbit burn and entered the atmosphere, shedding kinetic energy as blazing heat as it flew great S-shaped curves through the upper atmosphere. Sara was so engrossed with her thoughts that she hardly felt the g-force pressing her into the bulkhead, although it probably helped that the ride down from orbit was a lot smoother than her ride into Earth orbit. Not that it was an entirely smooth ride, of course.

It was only when the loadmaster started yelling at the passengers to put on their exo-packs that disturbed her reverie, and her eyes flicked open. All thoughts of the possible solution she had been considering fled from her mind in her sudden excitement. She reached for the net quick release and flicked it open, the net falling away, and she had to make a quick grab for her quarterstaff and bow before they fell to the floor. The Major had drummed into her head that she had to take care of her weapons, otherwise they would not take care of her.

Before she knew it, the shuttle had settled to the ground and the rear cargo door opened. Sara took the last breath she would ever take through an exo-pack as she Saw the Pandoran atmosphere swirl into the cargo bay, and ripped off the mask with glee.

The air was thick, not like the thin stuff she had been breathing since becoming an Avatar. It was warm and heavy with humidity, and smelt of green and growing things.

Sara had come home.


	11. Chapter 11

The shuttle had emptied of all the human passengers before Sara stepped on to Pandoran soil – or more to the point Pandoran concrete. It was pleasant not havig to duck her head to avoid the lintel of the rear cargo door. At least the shuttle was scaled for people of her height.

A voice screamed out, "Fuck! A loose smurf!"

Sara's head snapped around to the left to see a uniformed soldier raising his weapon at her. The lessons the Major had pounded into her brain came into play. She twisted towards the man and thrust her quarterstaff, the metal-clad butt slamming into his solar plexus. With a strangled wheeze the soldier collapsed to the ground, dropping his assault rifle as he struggled to breathe. Fortunately the weapon did not discharge. Sara snarled, "Don't point a gun at me."

There was an ominous sound of clicks behind her, as another voice exclaimed, "Shit! It speaks English!"

Slowly turning around, Sara said coldly, "I don't need to swear to make myself understood, and I'm not an 'it'." There was a group of four soldiers, all with their weapons pointing at her. She added, "If you don't want to join your friend on the ground, I suggest you lower your weapons."

The soldier who had spoken bared his teeth, growling, "I'd like to see you try, smurf." He shifted his grip on his CARB assault rifle.

Sara grinned, replying, "You can't shoot me."

"Why not?" queried the soldier, flicking an eyebrow up.

"The rounds would go straight through me and into the hypergolic fuel tank for the shuttle thrusters," she said reasonably, having already calculated their most probable trajectory. "The shuttle will explode, and we will all die."

The soldier laughed and lowered his weapon. "She's right, guys. Lower your weapons." He shook his head admiringly, saying, "You've got balls, smurf – big round brass cojones. What's your name?"

"Sara," she replied, a little puzzled. She was female, and didn't have testicles. How could she have big round brass balls?

"Sara the Smurf," said the soldier, "You can call me Lewis."

"Pleased to meet you," Sara said politely, bent down and offered him her right hand – her preferred left was still occupied with her quarterstaff. Lewis looked a little surprised at her action, but she had read that shaking hands was the most appropriate form of greeting upon an introduction. After all, she did like following the rules. It made life so much simpler when the rules were well-defined and simple.

"Ditto," said Lewis, gingerly shaking her hand. "Nice moves with the staff, by the way. Taekkyon?"

"Yes," she agreed. "Major Gennady Khudoshin was my sensei."

Lewis whistled admiringly. "Wilson," he said to the winded man getting to his feet. "You were lucky Sara the Smurf here didn't take your stupid fucking head off. Killer Khudoshin was her sensei."

Wilson scowled back at his section leader, growling, "She was lucky."

"You knew the Major?" asked Sara curiously, ignoring the unhappy soldier.

"Yep," agreed Lewis. "I fought him in a couple of tournaments. Neither of the bouts lasted more than about thirty seconds, before he handed me my ass." He grinned ruefully up at her. "How is the slippery bastard?"

"He died," said Nadia simply. "Kiev."

"Fuck," swore Lewis softly. "I liked him." A glint appeared in his eye. "Would you like to try a practice bout sometime? In honour of your sensei?"

"I'd like that," she admitted, "But I should warn you that the Major only sparred with me when he was wearing an exoskeleton."

"Oh," said Lewis, wondering if he had just bitten off more than he could chew. He grinned ruefully, "Try not to hurt me too much."

* * *

Administrator Zhong gazed impassively at the two scientists, hiding his towering anger from them – he refused to lose face to these gweilo. Their presence was going to be a major inconvenience and create delays to bringing the mine on-line. He wanted nothing to do with them, but the orders they carried could not be ignored. Any further delays and he would not receive his end of contract bonus, so the diversion of resources they required would be problematic.

"I will give you my full cooperation," said Zhong smoothly. "It is clear from your orders that RDA headquarters regards your mission as high priority. I will allocate a construction crew to start work on the planned facilities immediately."

Lissa managed to hide her dismay over the stuffed shirt running Hell's Gate. It was clear to her that he had little intention of helping them. "Thank you, Administator Zhong," she replied. "We appreciate your efforts sincerely."

The bureaucrat smiled at the woman. Perhaps the scientists wouldn't be too troublesome – at least she was paying him proper respect, unlike many women of her barbarian race. "In the meantime, I would request that you restrain your...experiment from any more violence against my workforce. She cracked the sternum of one of the security force after spending less than ten seconds on the ground."

Zhong saw the woman draw in a sharp breath, and to forestall any unpleasantness he held up his hand and said, "Please – I know that all fault was not on her side. I have already reprimanded the military commander for his failure to brief his troops properly. I would request that you discuss this matter with your charge."

"Of course," agreed Lissa.

* * *

Sara's stomach rumbled discordantly. She had eaten nothing since she had left Earth, at least two days – or rather five years – ago. "I need to go into the forest," she told Lewis, who seemed to have been appointed her primary point of contact with the security force, more by popular acclaim than by any other decision making process that she could ascertain. "I'm starving."

Lewis shook his head. "We can't let you out – it's too late." He made a gesture towards the setting sun, adding, "You wouldn't be back until after dark, and we don't open the gates for anyone at night. It's too fucking dangerous."

"But..." she started to object.

"Don't worry, Sara the Smurf," he said kindly. "The biologists have a garden inside the fence. You should be able to find some fruit there. I'll show you where it is, but first put this on." He handed her something that looked like a watchband.

The strap was easy to fasten around her wrist. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"It's an IFF bracelet," he answered. "Theoretically, the Sea-Wizz guns on the fence won't target warm bodies wearing one of them. The batteries are good for at least a year, more if they get plenty of sunlight." He started moving away from the administration building at a steady jog, forcing her to stride out at more than the gentle amble she had been used to using when accompanying humans. "You don't want to be anywhere near the damn things without a working bracelet."

"Ok," she agreed. A few steps later she asked cautiously, "I won't get into trouble for taking fruit from the garden?"

Lewis made a gesture in the vague direction of the the fence. "There are plenty of plants outside the wire," he said. "The boffins can always go and get some more."

* * *

Sara felt...actually, Sara wasn't quite sure how she felt. All that she knew on seeing the neat rows of plants growing in tidy rows, correctly sorted by family, genus and species, was that it was not right. It was very wrong. It was like trying to impose a simple law on the prime numbers, instead of letting them rejoice in all their diversity and strangeness.

"They don't like it," she said to Lewis.

"What?" he asked.

"The plants," she said. "They don't like straight lines. The forest doesn't have straight lines." It was more than that, thought Sara, but the words weren't there. She could describe it in symbols and numbers, but not in words. It was then that a great light went off in her head – the information flows of her forest in the dome, the equations she had tried to model them – they were all wrong. She should have been modelling them as surfaces in Riemannian space, rather than as flows, each exchange of information like a transfer of zeta functions between convergent manifolds. Sara could see the immensity of the forest inside her head, each plant – no, each lifeform connected to every other lifeform through twisting N-dimensional channels of...no, not consciousness. The only word she had for the connections was spirit, the surface of each connection describing a soul.

The vision that unfolded in her mind's eye was so beautiful it tore at her heart.

"Oel ngati kameie, sa'nok," she said, awestruck at the immensity of the living being that was this world. Sara was not afraid any longer – she knew that she would never be lost again.

The consciousness that was Eywa felt the blazing of one of the souls she cared for, and whispered back, "I See you, Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite."

That is who I am, thought Sara, daughter of Lissa – the One Who Numbers.

"Sara!" yelled Lewis, punching her on the thigh. "Sara! Are you ok?"

The Avatar had been standing on her feet, swaying slowly from one foot to the other, for almost two minutes, her golden eyes unfocused, totally oblivious to the world. A shiver ran down her body, and she shook her head as though she was waking from a dream.

"Ow!" she said, gazing down at the concerned soldier. "You didn't have to hit quite so hard."

Lewis looked relieved. "What happened? You just sort of faded out. I thought you were having a seizure."

"I saw the answer to a problem," she replied. "A maths problem I have been thinking about since before I left Earth."

Sara started to explain, talking about zeta functions, the complex plane and Riemannian space, making elaborate gestures with her hands to describe the shape of the connections she had seen when Lewis held up a hand to stop her. "Hey, you're going right over my head," he objected. "I only know enough algebra to lay down accurate mortar fire. Nothing like what you're talking about."

The expression on her face must have matched her disappointment. She desperately wanted to tell someone what she had seen, when her stomach rumbled again, reminding her that it had been several years since it had been fed. "Lewis," she asked. "Could you get me something to write on, and bring it outside? Like a big whiteboard? I really have to get something to eat."

"Consider it done," he replied. Lewis knew exactly what she needed. "Meet me outside the maintenance hangar in fifteen mikes."

* * *

In the maintenance hangar, one of the crew chiefs asked, "What do you want all that spray paint for, Lewis?"

He chuckled. "Sara the Smurf had a brainstorm, and wants to write down her maths homework on something."

The crew chief shook his head disbelievingly. It wasn't the craziest thing he had heard since he got to Pandora, not by a long shot. Still, it was up there, along with the time that Paklowski...no, he wouldn't even think about that, otherwise he would be rolling around on the ground laughing. "Fair enough," he commented. "I've got some more out back."

* * *

Now her stomach was full of fruit Sara had only one want. Well, actually she had two. She could do with a wash - her hands and face were very sticky. More importantly, Sara desperately wanted to write down what she had Seen – it was far too complex to retain in her head for long.

Rather than walking to the hangar, Sara loped like some kind of loup-garou, opening up her stride. As she approached, an airlock door opened, to show Lewis come out, carrying a large box with his CARB assault rifle slung over his shoulder. "Hey!" he cried out. "Over here."

Sara changed her direction vector slightly so that her path would intersect with that of Lewis. "I thought you were going to get a whiteboard," she said doubtfully, looking at the large box in his arms. "What are those?"

"The most essential tool for any street artist," replied Lewis. He saw her lack of understanding and expanded on his explanation. "Spray paint cans. The lid colour is the colour of the paint. Pick one up, give it a good hard shake to make sure the paint is well mixed, and then spray." He demonstrated on the wall of the hangar with a single pleasing curve, and tossed the can to Sara.

The can was small in her hand, but nonetheless she began to shake it. The movement of the paint and the ball bearing used to mix it felt pleasing, in a somewhat atavistic manner. She commented that this was the case, and drew a curve that precisely matched his. It was interesting, thought Sara, that you could derive some equations from that single curve, and use them to describe the biomechanical properties of the human arm and shoulder that had drawn the curve.

"Yeah," agreed Lewis, remembering pleasant evenings he spent as a teenager tagging empty walls in the streets and alleys of Baltimore, at least until he got caught. He shivered – that was how he had ended up in juvie. "Don't it just."

* * *

It was well after midnight, and spidery equations crawled down half the length of the maintenance hangar. Sara had been carefully working on them since before dusk, but she had finished them a couple of hours ago, and now she was working on a two dimensional representation of Riemannian space, showing a small segment of her vision. She had used every paint colour in her possession, but even then it was only a dim representation of the solution.

A pair of the ever-present sentries on patrol stopped to watch her work for about five minutes. One of them said, "It kind of sucks you in, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," commented his mate. "I don't hold with abstract art much, but I like it." He gazed at the work of the Avatar, adding, "It makes me feel calm inside."

"Done," announced Sara, and lowered the spray can in her grasp. She yawned, her jaw emitting a couple of alarming pops and cracks as it attempted to dislocate itself.

"No, it isn't," advised the first sentry. "You haven't tagged it. You know – your name."

"Oh," said Sara. The sentry was right. All good mathematicians signed their work. She hesitated for a moment, and quickly scrawled out a spiky signature.

"Sara the Smurf," read the second sentry. He grinned up at the tall Avatar. "I suppose you call a spade a fucking shovel, Sara the Smurf."

Her brain was unusually sharp at the moment, despite her tiredness. Rather than asking a question about a digging device for use in sexual intercourse, she had correctly interpreted the metaphor and replied, "My real name would be difficult for most of the personnel to say, so I thought I would use my new nickname."

"Good for you," he said approvingly. In his book, real tough guys – and girls – took a derogatory badge and wore it with honour, daring anyone to spit them in the eye. It seemed that Sara the Smurf was made out of the right stuff. It was a shame that she hadn't joined the Corps, instead of joining up with the science pukes. It must have taken some serious balls to be the first to wear a blue suit, and the poor bitch was stuck in it, he had heard.

She yawned again, and massaged her jaw. Sara was tired. It seemed that cryo hibernation did nothing to relieve tiredness.

"There is an open bay around the corner you can grab some shut-eye in," said the first sentry kindly. "It's under cover, so when it starts raining in about a quarter of an hour you won't get wet."

"Thanks," she said. "I'll do that."

* * *

The sentry had been correct. Fifteen minutes after she had curled up in a pile of old ropes, the rain came pelting down. She smiled to herself, and fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

The commander of the Hell's Gate garrison was gesticulating and pointing at the wall of the maintenance hangar. It seemed that the entire wall was now covered with graffiti. The unknown artists had respected Sara's work, both mathematical and artistic, surrounding it with depictions of Pandoran and mythical wildlife, together with the obligatory semi-nude humanoid females – elf, vampire, valkyrie and smurf – wielding the oversized weapons that inevitably seemed to occupy a place in such artworks. One of the figures was a remarkably good depiction of Sara, right down to the pattern of her tiger stripes, although some artistic licence had been taken with the size of certain of her physical attributes.

The noise disturbed Sara enough that she roused from her sleeping place to find out what was happening.

"So exactly what is the problem, Colonel?" asked Administrator Zhong. He found the artworks quite pleasing, adding significant harmony and balance to what was an essentially graceless building. The gweilo who had designed this facility had given no thought to achieving effective feng shui – particularly difficult in this environment, with the dominance of Polyphemus and its many moons in the sky – not to mention the distant but ever-present influence of Alpha Centauri B. There were architects in China that would have relished this challenge, but no – his employers had to stick with the barbarian design of the West.

With this lack of attention to natural influences, Administrator Zhong was sure that the project was going to end in tears, one way or the other.

Colonel Nkomo, a veteran of the Nigeria conflict, almost shouted, "It's unmilitary and prejudicial to the maintenance of good discipline." He ignored the half-ring of senior NCOs witnessing his diatribe.

Administrator Zhong's lips tightened. It was just as well that the Colonel would be returning to Earth on the next starship. Another twelve months having to deal with this inflexible martinet would drive the Sec-ops troops into outright mutiny, let alone the impact it would have in his digestion. The colonel had no idea of the need to give his men a safety valve to let off steam. There was nowhere they could go off-base, no red-light district, no nightclubs and bars clustered outside the main gate. Couldn't the colonel read the disapproval emanating from his NCOs?

"I understand your concern, colonel," said Administrator Zhong. "You say you have no idea who the artists were?"

The officer whirled and pointed accusingly at Sara, who was hovering outside the circle of men listening. "She did it! The fucking smurf scrawled all over my wall! She even signed her name!"

"Ah, the Avatar," said Administrator Zhong, turning to inspect Sara. "I believe we haven't been introduced," he said. "My name is Zhong, and I am the administrator of this facility."

The man speaking to Sara had the appearance of one of her wooden blocks that had been overly stretched in one direction. He was tall and thin for a Chinese, and if he had been dressed in courtly silk robes he would have been perfectly cast as a mandarin of the Manchu dynasty. "Hello, sir," she said respectfully. "My name is Sara, but the troops are calling me Sara the Smurf. That's my tag there," she said, pointing to her signature on the wall.

A corner of the administrator's mouth twitched involuntarily, as though he was suppressing a laugh. "I see," he said gravely. "There are several different artistic styles here, so I suspect that you were not accountable for all of this artwork." Sara shook her head to indicate agreement with his deduction. "Hmmm, very well," he said slowly, appearing to consider his next words carefully. "Apart from unauthorised use of minor consumables, Colonel, I don't see that there has been any real problem here."

If the colonel had not been of African descent, he might have turned beet red. As it was, his eyes bulged and his neck swelled up, almost like a fighting cock, as he started to say, "But..."

"What concerns me more is that the security systems that are supposed to monitor the entire compound are not in place," noted Zhong. "The only evidence of any malfeasance you have is personal testimony from the Avatar Sara. Given that you were scheduled to have monitoring systems in place over six months ago, I think this is a gross indictment on your effectiveness, and this is only one of your many shortcomings. You are to hand over command to your executive officer immediately, and depart for orbit and cryo on the next shuttle flight. Consider yourself fired."

The colonel suddenly had the appearance of a pricked balloon, instantly reduced to a flabby strip of torn grey-green latex.

Administrator Zhong nodded to the observers, "Gentlemen, Lady." He departed the grouping for the central administration block, trailed by a disconsolate former Sec-ops colonel attempting to re-ingratiate himself with little success.

"Well, fuck me sideways," said one of the NCOs. "I didn't think the Mandarin had it in him."

"How does one copulate laterally?" asked Sara, frowning. "I was of the impression that a reciprocating motion was more typical, and I am having difficulty visualising the necessary movements."

There was a sudden silence, an almost palpable desire of every man in the group of NCOs wishing to be elsewhere so they didn't have to explain the saying to Sara.

"Oh, I see I have misinterpreted another colloquial metaphor," observed Sara, her eyes twinkling. She had made no error at all – this was her first deliberate essay at a joke. "I apologise for your discomfort."

The NCO who had made the fateful statement started to chuckle, and was soon joined by the others. "Good one, Sara," he told her. "You really bazinga-ed us with that one."

She replied seriously, "I need to work much harder at humour. Riemannian geometry is much easier than understanding how to make people laugh."

"Most of the population would have it the other way around," said Lewis, who had appeared in the group without being noticed. "Is that what all those equations are about?"

"Yes," agreed Sara. "Among other things, it's a general solution for the Riemann hypothesis." She frowned, and wondered what kind of equations would be required to describe humour. They might be a fascinating challenge to derive.

"Oh," said another NCO. "That's interesting." Implying, of course, that it was not – although Sara did not grasp the implication.

Lewis interrupted, "Sara, you are wanted over at the administration centre for your mission briefing."

"Ok," she said, and the group that witnessed the fall of Colonel Nkomo broke up and went their separate ways.

None of the humans knew anything about pure mathematics, and did not understand that Sara the Smurf had solved the holy grail of human mathematicians for the last three hundred years. Instead, the equations spray-painted on to the maintenance hangar wall slowly faded over the next decade from the effects of sun and rain, until another and much less tolerant Sec-ops colonel ordered the graffiti to be painted over with military issue gray paint.

* * *

It seemed that Lissa and Phred had been anxiously waiting outside the administration block for some time. Even through their exo-pack masks Sara could see the relief on their faces.

As Sara slowed from her lope to a gentle amble, she saw Lissa tense to step forward, and then stop, as though she had remembered that Sara did not like to be touched. When Sara bent down to sweep her foster mother into an embrace, Lissa uttered a small squeak of surprise when she found her feet dangling in mid-air, pressed firmly to Sara's body.

Very gently, Sara set a rather overwhelmed Lissa back on the ground. "Hi, Lissa," she said, and gave a speculative glance towards Phred.

He replied, "Thank you for the thought, Sara, but much as I would enjoy a close embrace, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground."

"Are you hungry?" asked Lissa, anxiously. "Where did you sleep? Are you alright? We were rushed so quickly inside I didn't have time to do arrange anything, and then orientation took until after dark. They wouldn't let anyone outside until this morning."

It appeared that her foster mother was fussing over her. It wasn't really necessary – although it was rather pleasant to know that Lissa cared about her. No-one had ever cared enough before to fuss. Sara said, "I raided the biology garden. I hope they won't mind too much – I took almost all the ripe fruit. What remains will only be enough for breakfast."

Phred said seriously, "We can't have you starving to death here. We have to arrange an armed escort so you can collect food from the forest. While you're doing that, we have to determine the best manner to introduce you to the natives."

"Why wait?" queried Sara. "They already know I'm here. Fly me into the nearest village and let nature take its course."

"I think it may be better to distance your relationship with Hell's Gate," objected Phred. "Pretend you are from a far-distant tribe. It will be safer."

"No!" snapped Sara, surprising both Lissa and Phred at her vehemence. "I will not begin by lying to them. We will tell the truth, or I will not do this at all."

"How do you know they have already seen you?" asked Lissa cautiously. This was the first sign of temper she had ever seen from Sara – Lissa had not seen the flash of hatred when Sara struck the punching bag.

Sara shrugged. "Last night I observed some signs from the edge of the forest that I was being watched," she answered. Actually, Sara had not seen any watchers – she had felt their presence. She did not think that Lissa and Phred could accept her perception of her surroundings, so she had carefully said 'observed' rather than 'saw'. "They already know there is a native in human custody, so there is no point in pretending otherwise."

"We could take you to a more distant tribe," suggested Phred. "That could get around the issue."

"You've seen the images of the indigenous riding banshees, Phred," countered Lissa. "That level of personal mobility wasn't available until the Industrial Revolution on Earth – I believe any suggestion that distance will be a significant barrier to communications will be naive in the extreme. Sara is right. The best option is not to hide her origins."

* * *

A few hours later Sara was running her finger around a choker necklace as she hung her legs out of the cargo space of a Samson chopper. There wasn't a lot of room, not with two door gunners – one of whom was Lewis - Lissa and Phred, all packed in along with the few items that made up her gear. The only comfortable space left for her to occupy was in the doorway, propped against the frame with her feet resting on the landing skids.

The necklace had as its centrepiece a large black stone – which wasn't a stone at all. The stone was a vidcam with audio combined with a transmitter. The aerial was woven into the choker band, so Sara was all set to spy on the natives. However, as soon as she was able, Sara intended to advise the natives that they were being observed by others through her

Administrator Zhong had insisted on sending a Scorpion gunship as escort for their chopper, to provide top cover while they were setting down at the native village. Sara didn't like it, but the suggestion seemed to make Lissa and Phred more comfortable.

"I bet you wish were back at Hell's Gate pounding the shit out of me with the quarterstaff," yelled Lewis.

The sudden interruption stopped her from unconsciously counting from one integer to the next. Sara hadn't realised she was that nervous, but she was already well into the thousands. "I am a little apprehensive," she yelled back. It seemed the necessity to shout over the engine noise to communicate was overcoming her dislike of raised voices.

Lewis admitted candidly, "I would be scared shitless in your shoes."

Sara thought that was an excellent metaphor describing fear – despite the absence of footwear on her feet, she had observed that in moments of tension her bowels...The chopper hit a sudden air pocket and dropped like a stone interrupting her musing on metaphors.

"If I was wearing shoes, I would be too," she riposted.

Lewis chuckled as he scanned the sky for airborne threats, but today the skies were empty of large wildlife. Sara had seen vid of what the biologists were calling a leonopteryx smash a chopper from the sky, and had no desire to encounter one – well, not up close.

"Look!" cried out Phred excitedly from the other door. "Look at them!"

Sara craned her neck around to look out the other door. Phred was pointing at a herd of large animals lumbering through a clearing – Sara crinkled her brow and remembered that they were called sturmbeest. The wrinkles in her brow grew deeper – that wasn't right, the correct name for the huge herbivores was talioang. As she recalled this fact, her brow smoothed. It seemed the chopper had disturbed them from their peaceful grazing. The flying machine was noisy enough to disturb the dead.

"Two mikes!" called out Lewis, sending a small shiver down Sara's spine. The numbers clicked over in her head, almost spinning like the dials in an old-fashioned odometer. Two minutes...two minutes before she would be entering a new – and possibly very short – life.

The two choppers dropped lower, skimming over the forest canopy, and altering course slightly to head for a huge tree projecting hundreds of metres above the rest of the forest. That was their destination.

They roared over the clearing between the enormous tree and a lake. It had been decided that they would not try and hide Sara's approach, instead announcing it, to make sure that it was seen where Sara came from. The choppers banked in a smooth curve, returning to the clearing. Sara could see people pouring out of the base of the tree to see what was disturbing the quiet of the forest. She swallowed nervously – a very large proportion appeared to be armed.

The Samson flared for a landing while the ever-watchful Scorpion gunship orbited in a lazy circle overhead. Lissa called out, "We are receiving both image and audio. Sara, you are good to go."

At that very moment, Sara wanted to be home in the forest under the dome, where she had felt safe. The only problem was that nowhere was truly safe, not while she was within the grasp of the RDA. She was as ready as she ever would be.

As the landing skids briefly touched the ground, she stepped off, and heard the chopper immediately lift off again, not really hearing the calls of 'good luck' from Lissa and Phred. She did, however, hear Lewis call out, "Give 'em hell, Sara the Smurf!"

The corners of her mouth twitched up in a brief smile, which promptly disappeared as the oncoming crowd of natives approached cautiously. There were more people in this one place than she had ever seen before. That very thought made the digits in her head start spinning in a blur.


	13. Chapter 13

Administrator Zhong had arranged for the take from Sara's choker necklace to be rebroadcast on the screen in the mess hall. He had observed the unexplained popularity of Sara the Smurf with the Sec-ops troops – there was no explaining the inner workings of the military mind – and he surmised that watching Sara's interactions with the natives would prove a welcome diversion from the continual rerun of trashy vid soap operas. His graduate dissertation on a form of early twenty-first century popular media would finally come in useful – although why they had called it 'Reality TV' no-one could now explain.

Even better, it would provide the military with a better understanding of their potential opponent. Did not Sun Tzu himself say that if one knew one's enemy and knew oneself, a hundred battles would not imperil one?

He had not consulted with the scientists – Zhong anticipated that they would object, stating some misplaced need for confidentiality of sources, or need to properly process the data before general release. In this instance, the scientists were wrong, and he was right, hence the fait accompli that would be presented. Regrettably, many did not recognise his tendency to be right, but they were generally consigned to the dustbin of history.

"Holy crap, there are a lot of smurfs there," said a nameless soldier, one of about twenty off-duty soldiers watching the take.

Another replied, "They're big bastards too. No fucking way would I be volunteering for this mission."

"Fuck no," agreed the first. "Sara the Smurf has big round ones." He cracked open a can of real Earth beer, and took a long swallow of the rare amber fluid. "Shit, I miss this stuff," he observed, wiping a tiny trace of foam from his lips with the back of his hand.

Administrator Zhong had carefully arranged for a quantity of Earth-sourced alcohol to be available to watchers of the take, in order to encourage the learning experience. If the Colonel had approached his duties with a similar amount of originality and lateral thinking, he would still be in his position instead of packing his gear for the return to Earth.

"Hey, stop hogging the piss and pass me one," said the second soldier.

The first soldier tossed a can of beer to the second.

It was all going rather well, thought Administrator Zhong. Now, if only Sara the Smurf could avoid getting killed in the next ten minutes, the mission would be off to a flying start.

* * *

In the Samson chopper, Lissa and Phred were anxiously bent over a data tablet, praying that the natives would not be hostile.

What the two scientists did not know was that the crews of both choppers had unofficially agreed that they would stay on station until it was clear that they did not have to perform an extraction under fire. There was no way Sara the Smurf was going to be rubbed out on their watch – not when she had been responsible for getting rid of the tinpot dictator Nkomo.

That was why the take from the choker necklace was also on the central cockpit monitor of both machines.

* * *

There were four hundred and twenty-three very tall, very blue and very quiet people looking at her suspiciously. Sara had considered the various options open to her at this most critical moment, and had decided the best choice was to let the People make the first move. She did not realise that in her mind's eye she had capitalised one very important word.

* * *

Mo'at stood close to her life-mate Eytukan, the clan of the Omaticaya all around her, as she considered what should be done. This woman before them had stepped out from one of the noisy flying beasts of the sky-people. All had agreed that no contact should be made with the sky-people, the tawtute, until more was known of them. That was why there were watchers around the place that the sky-people had taken for their own, even now.

She had not been Tsahik long, and Eytukan had only been olo'eyktan for less than a year, even less time. The coming of the tawtute had been recognised to be of great concern, and it seemed that it had fallen to them to deal with this strangeness.

The woman – she was very young, only barely an adult - who had come to them in one of the dead flying beasts did not look quite right. Her weapons – staff and bow – looked different, as did her clothes. Very simple of design, they were, and devoid of clan markings. This woman was the right height and colour to be Na'vi – she was no tiny tawtute – but she was not from one of the clans. She was from somewhere else.

"Who are you?" demanded Mo'at. "Where did you come from?"

The stranger smiled and tilted her head to one side, as if she was considering the words that Mo'at had spoken – no, not considering the words, she was almost tasting them. It was as though she did not understand what had been said. How could this be?

* * *

The harsh voice of the woman who had spoken to Sara – her elaborate garments clearly indicating that she was of high status – indicated that she was demanding an answer, probably who she was and why was she here on the land of her clan.

Sara cocked her head slightly and smiled, before she answered, "My name is Sara. I have come to you from afar to learn your ways and language." At the sound of her alien speech there was a sudden intake of breath from the crowd of people around her, a clear demonstration of distrust of the strangeness she represented. A little nervously, she added, "Eywa asked me to come."

* * *

Mo'at was shocked when the stranger answered in the harsh tongue of the sky-people. She did not recognise the words or the meaning – no-one did. The sounds themselves, however, were unmistakeable.

One of the young warriors went to grab the woman by the arm, yelling, "She is a demon!"

* * *

When Sara felt a hand grab for her free arm, the training the Major had drummed into her came into play. With a simple twist she broke the hold, catching hold of her attacker's hand, rotating his arm behind his back and forcing him face-down to the ground. He gave an inarticulate yell when she planted a foot in the middle of his back and twisted his arm a little more to keep him there.

Back in the Hell's Gate mess-hall there was a roar of approval as Sara the Smurf took down some native punk with a really smooth move. She might have been ten foot tall and blue, but Sara the Smurf was a woman after their own hearts.

* * *

"Calm, People, Calm," shouted Mo'at. The authority of her voice halted the surge forward of the Omaticaya towards this alien interloper. She glanced up into the sky to see the two dead flying beasts circling and watching the clan. Mo'at had heard from the watchers a tale of a dead flying beast attacked by a flock of ikranay. The beast had answered with a crackling sound, and the ikranay had fallen from the sky like rain from a cloud. The Tsahik had no doubt that the dead flying beasts would seek to protect this woman if harm was offered to her by the Omaticaya.

She did not wish to find out how true the story of the watchers might be. Not yet.

However, there was one word that she recognised in the alien's unknown speech. She a single word asked, "Eywa?"

The stranger used her staff to indicate the people and the forest around them. "Eywa," she replied.

The Tsahik breathed a sigh of relief. This stranger was not ignorant of the mother of the world, so perhaps...Mo'at felt a glimmer of hope.

Mo'at took her mate's arm, drew him aside and whispered to him, "Eytukan, now is not the time to start a war with the tawtute. If we offer insult to this woman, they may take offense and attack us. You have heard the stories of the watchers, oh how deadly their weapons are. We must learn of them so that we may know them as enemies, or Eywa willing, as friends.

Eytukan listened carefully to Mo'at's words, and she loved him for it. Unlike many of the young male warriors, he understood that there was much wisdom in the words of women, and that the best option was not necessarily to place arrow on bow-string. He pointed his chin at the male warrior still pinned to the ground, and asked, "What of Tsawlontu?"

"He laid hands upon a woman that he did not know," replied Mo'at. "She defended herself, as is her right, and drew no blood. The only damage is to his dignity."

The olo'eyktan barked a sardonic laugh, "Tsawlontu will one day learn to think before he acts."

"When palulukan release their prey," replied his mate, provoking a gust of laughter from those around her.

"People," cried out the olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. "This woman is the business of the Tsahik. Go about your day, and all will be well. Perhaps Tsawlontu may even remove the taste of dirt from his mouth, and learn not to be so hasty."

* * *

When the crowd of natives began to disperse, there was a collective cry of relief from the soldiers in the mess-hall. Several yelled out, "She's in! She's in!"

Administrator Zhong, much to his own surprise, had also been holding his breath. It seemed that the mission of the two scientists and the Avatar would not be in vain – at least not yet.

The soldiers started a spontaneous chant of, "'Sara the Smurf! Sara the Smurf!" The chant was accompanied by exuberant head butting and chest beating, and other displays of physical exultation. Zhong was so affected by the moment he even joined in the chant, although he refrained from any crass display of physical prowess.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

"Sara the Smurf! Sara the Smurf!"

There was a slight pause in the chant, followed by an almighty, "Oorah!"

* * *

Phred asked, "Is this a matriarchy?" He had been puzzled by the lead role of the woman who had spoken to Sara.

"I don't think so, darling," said Lissa. "The woman in the complex dress provided advice to the high status male – obviously some kind of warrior or hunter leader. It was he that gave the order that made the crowd disperse. Clearly she has a position of influence, but I suspect the male is the clan leader."

"I was about to turn purple," commented Phred. "I was worried for a moment that they were going to attack."

"So were we," said the voice of the Samson pilot. "We were on the verge of extracting her."

"But we never asked you to do that!" exclaimed Lissa.

Lewis, the door gunner, said grimly, "She is one of ours. The Corps never leaves a sister behind."

"Semper fi!" yelled the other door gunner.

* * *

Sara shut her eyes in relief and leaned on her staff, as the spinning numbers in her head slowed and stopped. For a moment she had thought she would be torn apart by vengeful natives. If it had not been for the woman in the elaborate costume of red cords, in all likelihood she would now be dead.

* * *

Mo'at coughed gently. It was clear that the woman was feeling a sense of relief, and that she had been concerned over the immediate outcome of this meeting. It could have gone very differently.

The woman's eyes flicked open. Mo'at pointed meaningfully to the unfortunate Tsawlontu, still pinned to the ground. The woman chuckled softly, removed the foot from the middle of his back, and released his arm.

Tsawlontu turned over to glare up at the woman, rubbing his shoulder, to be faced with a broad grin and an offered hand. He sighed, took the offered hand and was pulled to his feet. "How did you do that?" he asked. None of his fellow warriors had ever disarmed him in practice with such ease.

* * *

Sara shrugged at the young male's words. He was probably asking what she had done, or alternatively he may have been asking the shortest way to Poughkeepsie. She had no way of telling. So Sara reached one hand up to his face and brushed off a clod of dirt that had stuck to his left cheek, courtesy of her ramming his face into the ground.

The high status woman said some words to the young male – he had a particularly large nose, thought Sara, but otherwise seemed to be of reasonable appearance. He made a gesture of acknowledgement in response, and departed, trailing after the dispersing crowd – but not before giving Sara a curious glance.

The woman pointed to herself, and said, "Mo'at."

It must be the woman's name. Sara repeated the syllables, only to have them corrected. She repeated the name, and the woman – Mo'at – nodded in approval. That was interesting – it seemed that the locals used the same gesture to indicate 'yes' as humans.

The Avatar pointed to herself and said, "Sara."

* * *

A soldier entered the mess-room and asked, "What's happening?"

"Well, dude," said one of the watchers. "Sara the Smurf is being led into the village. It was touch and go for a minute, especially when some young punk called her something unnatural and grabbed her arm. Our Sara made a slick move and he ended up with his face rammed into the dirt. The wife of the native big cheese stopped the crowd from attacking Sara, and talked her husband into letting her deal with Sara, and then the crowd dispersed. Oh, her name is Mo'at."

"Cool," said the soldier, and took a seat.

Curiously enough, the watcher's summation of the events that transpired was more accurate than either Lissa or Phred's understanding of the same events. It was not for nothing that the Corps gave jarheads a well-rounded practical education in human behaviour.

Another of the watchers said, "This is almost as good as a titty bar. I thought Sara was pretty damn hot, for someone who is blue and ten feet tall, but some of the native chicks are fucking knockouts."

"Perhaps we can get Paklowski to try out native dress," suggested another slyly.

"Hey," yelled Corporal Paklowski indignantly as she stood and turned angrily at the speaker. The dishwater blonde stores clerk was not tall, scraping over the minimum height for female soldiers by barely one half-inch. However, Paklowski filled her fatigues admirably, her large breasts straining the fabric of her fatigues in a manner that had been of great interest and speculation to the entire male population of Hell's Gate. "No fucking way!" she exploded.

"I was hoping for a private showing," said the originator of the suggestion cheekily. He was a particularly well-muscled and good looking sergeant.

Much to his surprise, Paklowski did not immediately tell him where to get off. She looked at him levelly and said, "I'll think about it, Vitello."

Sergeant Vitello's mouth fell open in astonishment. Paklowski stepped towards him and gently closed his mouth with a well-manicured finger. "Well," she asked. "Do you want to watch the Adventures of Sara the Smurf, or would you like to get to know me as a bit more than the stores clerk with the huge gazongas."

"Sorry guys," apologised Vitello to his comrades. "Opportunity knocks but once."

The two NCOs received catcalls of approval as they left the mess-hall together, until attention returned to the screen.

"Pass me another beer, will you," asked an anonymous soldier.

Adminsitrator Zhong left the mess-hall with a smile on his face. It seemed that the immediate morale problems with the garrison had just been resolved.


	14. Chapter 14

Mo'at pointed to one eye and said, "Nari." Sara repeated the gesture and the word.

They had been going like this for hours, working in an alcove within the huge village-tree. It was richly decorated with wall hangings and rugs, demonstrating the skill of the clan's craftsmen and women, but that was little comfort to Sara as Mo'at gradually increased the number of words that Sara knew. She only had to be told once to remember each word. She was only being told words – nouns, the names of things. There were other things Sara wanted to know – things she had to know, otherwise she would go insane.

Sara placed a hand on Mo'at's arm to stop her continuing the list of words, surprising the native woman. She held out both hands as clenched fists, and then began to uncurl each finger, one by one, from left to right, emphasising each uncurling digit with a definitive movement of her hand.

The Avatar wanted to know how to count.

Mo'at was surprised at the interruption. It seemed that Sara wanted to learn numbers. She supposed it didn't really matter what words she taught at this early stage, so the Tsahik repeated the gesture that the stranger made, calling out, "Kew, 'aw, mune, pxey, tsìng, mrr, pukap, kina, vol."

A wave of relief flowed over Sara. There was a word for zero. Sara had feared that the language did not have the concept of zero. It would have left her rudderless. Once she repeated the word for eight, Sara gestured to Mo'at, indicating that she wanted to learn more numbers.

Over the next half an hour, Sara managed to determine the method for constructing numbers. Not surprisingly it was structured on base eight, and was very logical, much more so than English. However, there were no words for numbers higher than two to the fifteen minus one. It seemed that they had no need to count any higher.

* * *

The numbers of soldiers in the mess-hall had thinned out substantially, until there was a hard core of eight, one of whom was Lewis after the choppers returned from their mission. All eight engaged in repeating the words that Mo'at and Sara were working through, but none were particularly surprised when Sara demanded to know her numbers.

On one side of the screen a program converting each spoken word to text was running. In one of the science labs, a group of research assistants were struggling to keep up with the translations, which were coming thick and fast.

"Huh," said one of the soldiers. "I didn't think it would be long before Sara the Smurf would get stuck into the numbers."

"She does like her maths," commented Lewis drily.

* * *

Eytukan entered the alcove of the Tsahik. The stranger was sitting cross-legged on one of the rugs, directly opposite Mo'at. The stranger's eyes were closed, her lips were moving, and her head was gently swaying from side to side.

"What is she doing?" he asked curiously.

Mo'at answered softly, not wanting to disturb the stranger, "I'm not sure, but I think she is counting." The movement of her lips corresponded with the movements that the mouth made when saying aloud the numbers from lowest to highest.

He frowned. This seemed strange, so he asked, "Have you learnt anything from her?"

"Only that her name is Sara, and she likes numbers," the Tsahik told her mate. "I think...no, I don't think – I know she is one of the innocents. The light in her eyes betrays her."

"Why would the tawtute bring an innocent to the Omaticaya?" mused Eytukan. An innocent was treasured by any clan blessed with such a child, for the joy and purity of their spirit, although most did not stay within the circle of the world for long. Few survived into adulthood. "Surely her own clan would be caring for her. There would be no need for tawtute to interfere."

There was no immediate answer from his mate. "I do not believe Sara is one of the People, my love," said Mo'at eventually. "Her possessions are unlike those of any clan, and she only speaks the language of the tawtute."

"But she cannot be tawtute," objected Eytukan. "Look at her – she is Na'vi."

Mo'at's smile twisted crookedly. "What have I always told you, Eytukan?"

He sighed, "Spirit is all that matters."

"I do not know how, or why, but I think Sara is a tawtute spirit in the body of a Na'vi," Mo'at advised her life mate. "They have sent her to us, so that they may learn."

Eytukan turned to gaze at the woman, who was swaying to some unknowable rhythm. "If you are right, I'm not so sure it was the tawtute that sent this woman," said Eytukan. "They may have brought her to Kelutrel, but I think another sent her – or perhaps it is more accurate to say our mother called her to this place."

* * *

She was very close, all around her, thought Sara. The connections were sliding past her, touching and transferring information, just like her vision of Riemannian space. It was only by counting that her sense of self was not swept away.

A hand touched her on the shoulder, yanking her away from her reverie with Eywa.

Mo'at was bending over her, saying, "Kaltxi, Sara." She made a motion with her hand, touching it to her open lips. "Ayoeng yom. Za'u."

Her stomach rumbled, letting her know that it did not appreciate being ignored, and that it required food. Sara rose to her feet, and followed Mo'at out into the communal area of Kelutrel.

* * *

"I've never been so terrified in all my life," said Lissa.

She was lying on her side, resting her head on Phred's shoulder, tucked in hard against his naked body. Her husband considered it was an excellent position, as it allowed his hand to idly stroke the soft, smooth skin along her flank.

Phred admitted, "I thought my heart was about to stop dead." He kissed the top of Lissa's head, adding, "The worst is over now. The natives seem to have accepted Sara, so it should all just be an exercise in data collection."

"You're not angry about what Zhong did?" asked Lissa. "Piping the take to the mess-hall doesn't exactly comply with normal research protocols."

"I have to admit my immediate reaction was to march up to his office and tear him a new one," said Phred. "Then I saw some of the grunts playing twenty-one, and only using Na'vi to play." They had learnt the native's word for themselves this afternoon, before Sara became distracted with numbers. Phred suspected that it meant 'The People'. "From his perspective, it makes sense to have as many of the Sec-ops troops fluent in Na'vi as soon as possible. They are the ones most likely to come into contact with them." He sighed. "We'll just have to work harder, so we can document as much as we can before there is any cross-cultural contamination."

"I just hope Sara is going to be ok," said Lissa.

Phred squeezed his wife reassuringly. "I am sure our foster-daughter is going to be fine."

* * *

Sara was feeling comfortably full. She decided she like Na'vi food. It was much better than existing on a diet of raw fruit and fungi, as she had done since she deserted her human body. Even the buggy looking things called teylu were nice – they had a nutty flavour, with an overlay of some piquant spice.

Right now she was settling down into a hammock slung high in Kelutrel, next to Mo'at's daughter Sylwanin, who seemed to be about the same physical age as her. She had seemed very friendly – surprisingly friendly to a stranger to the clan who did not speak their language.

She liked the hammock a great deal – especially how one could almost wrap it about one's body, almost like a cocoon. Sara felt safe here, safer than she had ever felt before.

* * *

"Thank Christ we can get some rack," groaned Lewis. "I thought Sara the Smurf was never going to get some shuteye."

"That Sylwanin seems like a nice kid," said Vitello, who had returned to the mess-hall looking very like the cat who had acquired a cream factory. Apparently relations with Corporal Paklowski were proceeding very satisfactorily.

"Sylwanin, a nice kid?" asked Lewis rhetorically. "You've got to be kidding."

"Why?" demanded Vitello.

"You're as thick as two fucking bricks when it comes to women, Vitello," said Lewis. "If Paklowski hadn't dragged you off, you wouldn't have had any idea that she liked you."

"What's that got to do with Sara the Smurf?" said Vitello, a broad grin on his face. Things with Paklowski had gone extremely well. A number of baseball metaphors crossed his mind – forget rounding the bases. Vitello had won fucking back-to-back World Series.

"Sylwanin wants to fuck our Sara," replied Lewis crudely.

"What!" exclaimed Vitello. "You mean she is..."

"Yep, Sylwanin is a muff muncher," answered Lewis. "A lesbo. A dyke. A friend of Sappho. A les-bi-an."

"Holy fuck!" swore Vitello. "I had no idea."

"That's exactly what I was telling you," said Lewis. "Your fucking gaydar is non-existent."

"I suppose yours is any better," riposted Vitello.

Lewis laughed. "It had better be," he chuckled, "Otherwise I wouldn't be getting any action."

Vitello's mouth opened and closed several times, like that of a goldfish. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Yes, Vitello," said Lewis. "I'm gay."

"Jesus fuck," Vitello finally murmured. "I had no fucking idea."

"I thought we had already established that," said Lewis, grinning broadly. "Everyone else in the unit knew when we embarked."

"Shit," said Vitello, who then started to laugh, shaking his head. He really had no idea when it came to this stuff. "Do you think we should tell Sara?" he asked. "it might be a bit of a shock, otherwise."

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Lewis. "I don't think Sara the Smurf is quite as innocent as she seems, although I suspect she hasn't done much more than dip a toe in the water."

"You mean Sara the Smurf is lesbian too?" whispered Vitello, looking up and down the corridor to see if anyone else was in earshot.

"Yes and no," answered Lewis. "In my humble opinion, I think our Sara swings both ways."

"Fuck," murmured Vitello, thinking he really had to come up with a more original line in expletives.

"While we are here sharing confidences, there is something you can tell me that I don't already know," said Lewis quietly.

"What?"

"Are Paklowski's tits real?" asked Lewis.

Vitello started to cough and splutter. "Why?" he eventually managed to ask.

Lewis chuckled. "There is a pool going on it. I've got five hundred bucks on the positive side."

"Why wasn't I asked to be in the pool?" demanded Vitello, a little hurt about being excluded.

"Because, shithead, everyone knew that Paklowski liked you," answered Lewis. "We didn't want to fuck up your chances."

"Oh," said Vitello. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or angry. Then he grinned, and said, "She's a fucking freak of nature."

"Yes!" exclaimed Lewis quietly, pumping a fist in exultation. "It's ok, Vitello. I'm not going to tell anyone. Not yet."

"If you do, I'll pull your fucking head off," warned Vitello. He really liked Corporal Paklowski – the fact that she had the hottest little body with the biggest boobs he had ever seen was merely a plus in the whole delightful package of Corporal Linda Paklowski.

"Ok," Lewis reassured his friend. His thoughts raced at a million miles per hour. It seemed the big lug had fallen damn hard. Perhaps he should start another pool on the wedding date.

* * *

Lissa and Phred were up before dawn, reviewing the highlights of the previous day's take. "Sara was right not to lie," commented Lissa.

"I was wrong," agreed her husband. "But the take – the take is fantastic. We have almost a thousand words, just from yesterday. And the images..."

The village – Kelutrel - was a beautiful place. The translation program they were using projected that the name meant home tree. 'Hometree', thought Lissa - a beautiful name for a beautiful place. The Na'vi too, were stunning in appearance - let alone the products of their artisans.

The Na'vi might have been a Neolithic culture, but there was nothing unsophisticated about their manufactures. The beauty of their cloth, of their pottery, spoke volumes about their culture. There was a deep underlying sense of design, a sense of rightness in everything Phred and Lissa had seen in Kelutrel.

"Hey, look," said Phred. "They are starting to stir." The vid take from the choker necklace showed Sylwanin hanging upside down from the branch above, and reaching into Sara's hammock to shake her awake.

"Txo nga txen oe, ngeyä kxetse lu oeru," growled Sara, clamping her eyes shut tighter. She definitely did not want to leave her dream yet.

An expression of shock appeared on Sylwanin's face, filling the screen in front of the two scientists.

"What the fuck?" demanded Lissa. "What the hell did she say?"

"I don't know," said Phred. "All the program has is that Sara said something about a tail."

The married couple looked at each other, wondering what had just happened.

* * *

"If you wake me, your tail is mine," growled Sara.

Sylwanin almost recoiled in shock. If Sara did not know the language of the People, there was no way that she could possibly have said what she just said – Sara had sounded just like Sylwanin's little sister Ney'tiri, who was a notorious slug-a-bed. Sylwanin gritted her teeth, and shook Sara a little harder.

"Gah," said Sara. She stretched and opened her eyes, focusing on Sylwanin's face. She smiled, and said "Kaltxi."

Unlike the phrase she had spoken in her sleep, Sara's greeting still had the inflections of the tawtute. Sylwanin was confused. Either this stranger could speak the language of the People, or she could not. She could not do both. This was something for her mother to understand.


	15. Chapter 15

Sara was frightened.

She was in the alcove of the Tsahik, listening to Sylwanin talking quietly to her mother. Both women were taking frequent glances at her, as though she had done something wrong. They were talking very quickly, far too quickly for her to pick out more than one word here or there.

She didn't know what she had done. This was just like what happened in the bad place, when the nursing staff talked in whispers, before the orderlies came. A sharp noise came from behind her, from behind the curtain to the communal area of Kelutrel. Sara glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see men dressed in white, and she started to tremble.

The numbers – the numbers. If she counted, she could go away and be safe, safe from the orderlies. She reached for them, inside her head. Where were they? The numbers, the numbers weren't where they should be. There was just a mass of words.

A whimper escaped from her mouth as she hung on to the edge of the precipice.

* * *

'Sara!" cried Sylwanin.

Sara's eyes had rolled back in her head, and she was shaking in sheer terror. Sylwanin stepped towards the strange young woman and embraced her, whispering into her ear, "Come back, my sweet. You're safe here. No-one will hurt you."

Gradually, the trembling that rippled through her body slowed and stopped. Sara asked, "Safe?"

Sylwanin nodded, and kissed one tear-streaked cheek.

* * *

Lissa yelled, "Get me a pilot!"

Sara's physical readouts on the monitor were indicating a full-blown panic attack. She knew from Sara's human medical history that an attack like this could lead her directly into a fugue state for days, perhaps even weeks. Heaven knows what had triggered it – the situation had seemed perfectly safe to Lissa. She grabbed her exo-pack mask and whirled for the door.

Phred's voice snapped, "Wait a moment. Look!"

Lissa turned back towards the monitor. The readouts that had spiked so quickly were coming down. Not as quickly as they had spiked, but coming down nonetheless. She glanced at the image take, to see that another Na'vi was very close, almost too close to focus.

"Sylwanin is holding her," advised Phred. "She's calming down."

Lissa felt a flash of jealousy that another being was usurping her role, before she clamped down on the unworthy emotion. She hung the exo-pack back on its peg and slumped into her chair. "Are we doing the right thing?" she asked, after several seconds of silence. "For Sara, I mean."

Phred answered, "We discussed this on Earth, if you remember. We don't have a choice. If Sara isn't accepted by the Na'vi, she will be living at the mercy of the RDA for the rest of her life."

Lissa nodded reluctantly. Phred was right – this was really the only option that would lead Sara to a relatively normal life. "What is she doing now?" asked Lissa, frowning over the physical readouts. She was still a little worried – some of Sara's stress hormones were still high, and her heart rate was still elevated, despite a slight dip.

"Um," said Phred. "I think she is kissing Sylwanin."

* * *

Mo'at coughed significantly. While the Na'vi were quite relaxed about most behaviour, the alcove of the Tsahik was supposed to be a place of quiet and solemnity, not a place for passion.

Sylwanin pulled away from Sara's embrace, her chest heaving. She had never been kissed like that before. It was as though Sara had poured her entire being into a single kiss.

Sara's eyes were tender through her tears. "Thank you," she murmured to Sylwanin. "I couldn't find my way. My numbers were hidden. You brought me back."

Mo'at said drily, "I see what you mean, my daughter. Her Na'vi speech flows, like the water in a brook, when it should not."

Sylwanin did not immediately answer her mother's words. Instead, she was gazing in astonishment at Sara. "I See you," she whispered. She really could See this woman, in all her innocence and complexity. Sylwanin knew that this woman was gentle beyond belief, incapable of evil or wrongdoing. It did not matter to Sylwanin where Sara's spirit came from.

The answer she received from Sara was a secret smile, just for Sylwanin, a smile that only lasted a few brief seconds before it was covered by confusion, and her soul retreated behind the walls it had built years ago.

Mo'at indicated to the two young women to sit, and noticed wryly that Sylwanin was still holding Sara's hand. It seemed her volatile daughter had just fallen for the stranger like a lonataya with a torn gasbag fell from the sky. She sighed, wishing that Sylwanin had not fought with the others of her former circle, and been expelled from their ranks. It seemed that her temper was such that not even her position as eldest daughter of the olo'eyktan and Tsahik of the Omaticaya could overcome the disadvantage of her volatility.

The Tsahik asked, "Sara, do you understand what I am saying now?" It was clear from the young woman's expression that her moment of lucidity had vanished. Mo'at turned to her daughter and said, "I think Sara does not know that she knows our speech. There is some kind of barrier in her spirit."

"Is there anything you can do?" asked Sylwanin.

Smiling, Mo'at removed a necklace that carried a brilliantly clear stone that glittered and shone. She held it out in front of Sara, swinging it from side to side. The stranger's eyes involuntarily followed the shining stone, until her eyelids closed.

"Sara," said Mo'at. "Can you hear us?"

"Yes," answered Sara, in perfect Na'vi. "I can hear you, Mo'at."

"What is your name and clan?"

Sara smiled, despite her hypnotised state, "My name is Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite. I have no clan, for I was born tawtute."

"How can this be?" asked Sylwanin. Mo'at glared at her daughter for speaking, but did not say anything. It was too dangerous to interrupt.

"The tawtute are skilled in many things," answered Sara. "They made this body, and moved my spirit there from that of my birth."

"How do you come to understand our language?" asked Mo'at, resuming the role of questioner.

"A forest has been grown on the far-distant world of the tawtute," said Sara. "I joined with a willow tree, and could hear the whispers of Eywa, searching for her lost children."

Mo'at frowned. She had to wake Sara soon, otherwise her spirit might be lost in the dream place. There would only be enough time for one more question. "Why do you not always speak our tongue?"

"My spirit is not whole," said Sara. She touched her heart with one hand, saying, "Eywa has touched me here, giving me the gift of your tongue, but the walls my waking self built to protect me from..." A shudder rippled through Sara's body. "The walls..."

"Be quiet, my child," said Mo'at. She had pushed too hard, and was now endangering the spirit of this innocent – even if she was tawtute. "You will wake calm and refreshed, and fluent in our tongue when I say the name of our mother. Eywa."

* * *

The first people down to breakfast did not enter the mess-hall until Sara left the alcove with the fingers of her left hand entwined about Sylwanin's right. She could not help constantly looking at the daughter of the Tsahik.

Vitello said to Paklowski, "See, I told you. Just like Lewis said."

Corporal Paklowski shook her head as they took a seat at a table, their thighs brushing together. "I would never have picked it." She chuckled, "I don't suppose he has started a pool on when they do the horizontal mambo?"

"Why do you think he would do that, Linda?" he asked warily.

She laughed, "He's been running a pool on my tits for the last six months." When Vitello blushed bright red at her words, Paklowski said, "He promised me a ten percent commission if I kept my mouth shut and didn't spoil the fun."

The handsome sergeant was starting to wonder if he had been played.

Paklowski felt the muscles of his thigh stiffen against hers at her revelation, and glanced away from the screen showing Hometree to his face, a look of suspicion evident as the day is long. A sudden jab of fear shot through her, wondering if she had just damaged her chances with this guy. She jabbed him sharply in the ribs, and snapped, "Don't be ridiculous, Vitello. Everyone knows I don't fuck around, so if you dare think I screwed you just so Lewis could get his independent confirmation for the pool, you can forget about getting any more." She pulled away from him.

"Linda!" he hissed, gripped by panic that he had offended this woman. "Please, don't be angry. I didn't mean anything."

God, she loved this guy. Every emotion he felt was instantly transmitted for the world to see. She took a long, cool glance at him, and then allowed her chilly expression to fade away. "Ok, Niccolo, I believe you," she conceded slowly. "It's just that when you look like me, everyone thinks you're a brainless bimbo sex-kitten, and I've been hurt by guys I thought were nice before."

The tension in Vitello's shoulders suddenly relaxed and he breathed out in relief. For a brief moment he thought he had really fucked up. "I wish we were back on Earth," he said wistfully.

The sudden change of subject surprised Paklowski. "Why?" she asked, before she could stop herself. "The money's great and the work isn't that hard, even if there is fuck-all to do off-duty."

"I'd like take you home to meet my family," he said simply.

A sudden lump appeared in Paklowski's throat, and her eyes grew misty. No guy had ever said that to her before.

* * *

When Lissa saw Mo'at was hypnotising Sara, Phred almost had to physically restrain her from racing out of the room again, at least until the Na'vi came rippling out of Sara's mouth in answer to Mo'at's questions. She planted her backside firmly in the chair and listened with amazement.

"How?" asked Lissa.

Phred replied, "Think of all the test results we ran her through. We know Sara is brilliant. Perhaps it is possible for someone like her to pick up a language in less than a day."

The translation program did not have enough of a grasp on Na'vi to produce a viable translation of the interchange between the two. Lissa resolved that she would have to replay it when they had a better basis for translation, so that she could better understand what had happened. "Why doesn't she speak like that all the time?"

"We still don't know much about how autistic brains work yet, let alone autistic Avatar brains," answered Phred. "I suspect her ability to speak Na'vi fluently is tied to her emotional state. When Sara is calm and relaxed – such as dozing or hypnotised – she can reach the language, otherwise she has trouble accessing it."

* * *

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Sylwanin. They were walking hand-in-hand down to the lake of the Omaticaya.

Sara blinked several times. "You remind me of someone. She cared." Her speech was not as fluid as when she spoke from the dreamland, but still it was easily understandable.

"What was her name?" asked Sylwanin.

"Nadia," answered Sara.

"Na'dia," repeated Sylwanin. "It is a pretty name, although it is difficult to say." They walked a few more steps before she spoke again. "Do I look like her?"

"No," was Sara's answer. "She is tawtute, you are Na'vi, so you could not possibly look like her."

Sylwanin smiled, "You said that you were tawtute once, but now you are Na'vi."

Sara considered Sylwanin's statement. It was true, but she did not remember what she looked like when she had been human, so she could not make any comparison. "My body is Na'vi," agreed Sara. "I do not know what my spirit is."

"I am sure we will find out," commented Sylwanin sagely.

"I guess," said Sara. They stopped on a smooth rock overlooking the lake. "Nadia is a dancer who cannot dance. I told her Eywa wishes her to come to this world, as I came here, so that she may dance again."

"Eywa has told you this?" asked Sylwanin incredulously.

"Yes," replied Sara. "Nadia will come. It is not in her to fail. If we still live, then we shall find out if she looks like you."

Sylwanin said, "You have much faith in this Na'dia."

"She taught me how to kiss," replied Sara.


	16. Chapter 16

"Sara the Smurf is pretty fucking smart," said Lewis. "She's fluent in the Na'vi jibber-jabber after only one day."

Paklowski grinned, "Any woman makes you look like a skxawng."

There was a gust of laughter from the other soldiers in the mess-hall. "What the fuck is a skxawng?" demanded Lewis.

"You are!" chorused the soldiers. That was what Sylwanin called Tsawlontu when he confronted Sara by the lake. Lewis had missed that little piece of theatre.

* * *

"You!" accused a male voice.

Sylwanin and Sara turned around at the interruption. Sylwanin snapped, "What do want, skxawng?"

Sara recognised the male. It was the one with the big nose who had grabbed at her arm. She frowned slightly, remembering his name, and smiled slightly. His name – Tsawlontu – meant Big Nose.

"You!" repeated Tsawlontu, pointing at Sara. "How did you do that to me?"

"Do what?" asked Sara. She had no idea what he was referring to.

He half-snarled at her apparent idiocy. "How did you overcome me?"

Sara shrugged. It was simple enough to describe. "I twisted my arm out of your grip, caught your hand and rotated it, using my superior position to force you to the ground. To stop you from struggling and injuring your shoulder, I placed my foot in the middle of your back."

"I would like to see you do that to me again," he snarled.

"Yes," agreed Sara, a little nonplussed. If he wanted a practice bout, although she knew no reason why he wanted one, Sara would give it to him.

"Tsawlontu, don't be more of a skxawng than you already are," snapped Sylwanin. When he slid his hunting knife out of its scabbard she swore, "Wiya! Tsawlontu, what are you doing?"

The moves the Major had taught Sara about disarming an attacker wielding a knife clicked into Sara's head. However, all her combat equations had been performed with an attacker with his knife in his right hand. She furiously derived a variation of her equations to cover the prospect of a left-handed assailant as she took a step backwards to assume her combat stance.

Tsawlontu yelled as he leapt in, swinging his knife and almost causing Sara to flinch. She really didn't like being yelled at, but was thankful that the Major had taught her well. She knew that yells in combat were designed to confuse and disorient. She had tried to do the same in practice, but found it was not in her to do so, unless she lost her temper. Instead, she fought in silence. The Major had told her that could be just as effective and disconcerting to an opponent.

Sara swayed to one side to avoid the swung knife, and then stepped inside Tsawlontu's space. She swung her right elbow to smack him in the side of his head, disorienting him, following up with a solid jab with her stiffened fingers into his solar plexus. This blow had the same effect on Na'vi as it did on humans, almost paralysing his diaphragm. As Tsawlontu gasped for air, she raised her knee to slam it into his groin.

The unfortunate male fell onto his side, curled into a ball and struggled to breathe. It seemed that this practice bout had gone for as long as it was going to. "Try and breathe slowly," Sara advised him kindly. "It will help."

Tsawlontu managed to groan pitifully. It seemed he wasn't going to die quite yet.

Sylwanin had watched the brief combat with amazement. It was over in less than five seconds. She bent over the incapacitated Tsawlontu and hissed, "Skxawng!"

Sara said, "Thank you for the practice bout, Tsawlontu." She picked up his knife from where he had dropped it, and pressed back into his hand. "I had not previously fought a left-handed opponent."

"Would you like to go swimming?" asked Sylwanin, ignoring the incapacitated male on the ground. "The water in the lake is very refreshing."

"I've never gone swimming before," replied Sara. "Is it fun?"

Sylwanin dived into the lake from the rock, swimming underwater until she bobbed up near the middle of the lake.

"Why don't you come in and find out?" she called out cheerfully.

Sara plunged in, the shock of the cool water almost emptying her lungs of air. She skimmed over the bottom of the lake, the many bottom-growing water plants brushing sensually against her body, until she bobbed up near Sylwanin, her lungs screaming for oxygen. After she replenished her air supply with a few deep breaths, Sara realised that swimming was fun - especially after Sylwanin swam to her with a few strokes, embraced her and kissed her thoroughly.

* * *

"This is like a 'Girls Get Wet and Wild' viddy show," enthused Vitello. "It's got everything! Fighting, tall wet blue women grappling in the water..."

Paklowski swung her hand, playfully clipping the back of Vitello's head. "In case it has escaped your notice, your viewing privileges have just been curtailed," she advised him.

"Ouch," he said cheerfully, rubbing the close cropped hair on the back of his head. He didn't seem to mind too much.

* * *

"How is the translation program going?" asked Lissa. She had been trying not to flinch away from the screen when she saw Sara plunge into the lake. As far as she knew Sara could not swim, although it seemed to be an innate ability of her Avatar body.

"Na'vi is not a simple language," replied Phred. "It seems to be based on verbal inflection with infixes, using much the same word order as German. I think it will be an absolute bitch for a native English speaker to learn – the ejective consonants and trilled 'r' are quite difficult. " He studied the screen for almost a minute before adding, "I think we will have enough samples within another couple of days to be able to translate most speech. The rest we should be able to get by context and interpolation."

* * *

By the time the two young women pulled themselves out of the lake, Tsawlontu had disappeared, no doubt chastened by his lack of success in overcoming Sara. Sylwanin said, "I am afraid that I cannot spend any more time playing today."

"Oh," replied Sara. So this was playing? She had thought it was work.

"Yes, I have to do some work," confirmed Sylwanin.

"I too am working," said Sara. "Lissa and Phred want me to observe, so that they may see and learn."

"Who are these people?" asked Sylwanin. By Sara's name, Lissa was her mother, but she had said that her body had been made, not born.

"Lissa is the mother of my spirit," said Sara. She touched the large stone on her choker necklace. "Lissa watches and hears what I do through this stone. The tawtute wish this so that they may learn of the Na'vi – both their tongue and their ways."

Sylwanin's eyes narrowed. "Is this magic?"

Now Sara looked puzzled. "I do not understand. What is magic?"

"Magic is, well, magic," replied Sylwanin. Everyone knew what magic was.

"Ah," said Sara, suddenly understanding. "You define magic as itself, and anything that you cannot explain or understand becomes magic."

Sylwanin had never heard it put like that. She stopped to look at the stranger in astonishment at her statement. What she heard next was deeply disturbing.

Sara continued, "The tawtute seek to understand all that is embraced by Eywa, so there will be no magic or mystery."

"But that is so wrong," argued Sylwanin. "Some things should always remain hidden."

"Why?" asked Sara. "Who chooses what it is magic, and what is known?" Everything she knew or observed she could describe by numbers, if she tried hard and long enough. Even the wonderful complexity of the being that was Eywa could be modelled with numbers, however imperfectly. She had temporarily forgotten her inability to describe the beauty of Nadia's dancing.

* * *

Eytukan heard raised voices by the lake. Attracted by the unusual noise, he came across his daughter and the stranger called Sara arguing about...what were they arguing about? "What is this?" he demanded.

The two young women fell silent at the unexpected interruption. They had been so intent on their argument they had become oblivious to everything around them. "Ma'sempul," said Sylwanin respectfully. It always paid to be respectful to the olo'eyktan of the clan, even if he was your father. "Sara and I were discussing whether all things could become known, instead of being called magic and unknowable."

"Ah, a worthy topic for argument," he opined, and took a seat on an upturned tree-stump. "I wish to be enlightened as to your views."

"Sara said the tawtute seek to understand everything under the sky, so that there is no magic or mystery," answered Sylwanin. "That is wrong, it is evil."

Sara smiled, "It is true that I said that. However, the tawtute themselves know that it is not possible to know everything. The fabric of the Universe itself prevents them from knowing all. A learned tawtute called Heisenberg discovered this over two hundred years ago."

"Why didn't you say this?" demanded Sylwanin angrily, thinking that she had just won her side of the argument. If the Universe itself prevented all knowledge from being known, then some things were magic and unknowable.

"You kept on interrupting," answered Sara calmly. She turned back to the olo'eyktan to say, "The tawtute seek to know everything that they can know, recognising that their quest is ultimately impossible. Nonetheless, they do this."

"Interesting," said Eytukan. This was the first glimpse the Na'vi had ever received into the motivations of the tawtute. "I would like to hear more of this. Please continue, Sara."

* * *

The olo'eyktan kept Sara talking until after midday, while Sylwanin fidgeted restlessly, waiting, just waiting. She hated sitting around listening to people talk. Especially when she was expected to sit still and say nothing. It was as though she was still a child, despite her having become taronyu and pass through Uniltaron as a full adult this month past.

Eventually, her father took pity on his daughter and told her to take Sara and show her the forest.


	17. Chapter 17

The forest was wonderful. On the other hand, what happened in the forest was not so wonderful, as far as Sara was concerned. She very quickly discovered that she was physically unable to hunt. The act of killing a living animal was totally abhorrent, and just to see it happen made her physically ill.

Sylwanin had been shocked the first time this happened, not understanding Sara's revulsion. Hunting was part of the circle of existence. Each time a Na'vi slew an animal on the hunt, they released its spirit back to Eywa, while the flesh it discarded became part of the body of the People.

"But you eat meat," protested Sylwanin. "You know that it came from an animal that a hunter has killed."

"Yes," acknowledged Sara shamefacedly. "I know it is wrong of me to eat the flesh of our brothers while refusing to kill one myself." She paused before saying, "I just can't do it."

"What if you tried?" asked Sylwanin gently. She wanted Sara to become part of the clan. There were not many pathways other than that of the hunter.

Sara shook her head. "No," she said. "If I even think of it, then I know I am just like the orderlies."

"Orderlies?" frowned Sylwanin. "This is a tawtute word, no? What does it mean?"

Sara explained what her life had been, before she had been taken away from the bad place - the place where the orderlies had beaten her for breaking the rules, the rules that she did not understand. An expression of horror slowly spread over Sylwanin's face. She could not conceive of such a place where people could abuse an innocent.

There was no doubt that Sara was telling the truth. Sylwanin could See the anguish Sara was reliving, the pain and fear from her memories reflected in her sweet face. "You did not tell my father of this," said Sylwanin quietly.

"He did not ask,' replied Sara simply.

There was only one response that Sylwanin could give to this woman. She drew Sara down to the soft forest floor in a sweet embrace, and made gentle love to her.

* * *

Lewis grabbed the remote and switched off the large screen, to a roar of disapproval from the watching soldiers and workers.

"How would you like it if the whole fucking word watched you getting your rocks off?" shouted Lewis. "Sara the Smurf is one of us, you fucking peeping Toms."

The hubbub toned down somewhat, until one foolhardy soldier piped up, "What about Paklowski and Vitello – perhaps they could stand in for the Smurf!"

There was a sudden flurry of activity, and the soldier that had spoken last found himself flying through the air, his designated LZ targeted for the kitchen. Trays and pots and pans went flying with a clatter of metal and breaking glass, as Vitello said, "Anyone else with a smart mouth here?"

There was a shocked silence. Vitello was known by every soldier in the garrison as the most even-tempered man on Pandora. The only two people without surprised expressions were Lewis, who gave a nod of approval to Vitello, and Paklowski, who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

* * *

Administrator Zhong asked, "Doctor Palmer, I understand your program to learn the native language is progressing well."

The research lab area was largely empty when the bureaucrat had entered unexpectedly. Lissa had retreated to her sleeping quarters, and after the initial excitement of the flood of results streaming down from Sara's choker necklace, their research assistants had followed her example.

"Yes," agreed Phred. "Embedding the Avatar within the local tribe is producing exceptional results. I expect that we will have automated computer translation of the spoken language within a couple of days. However, I expect that it will take substantially longer for humans to gain fluency."

"What is your assessment of the native's cultural level?" asked the administrator curiously.

"It is difficult to give an answer," replied Phred. "Our assessment is that there is no exact correspondence with any particular stage of human development. While they apparently have no metal-working capability the quality of their handicrafts I would assess as being roughly equivalent to that of many Bronze Age cultures on Earth, although they do not appear to engage in agriculture. The biological richness of the forest environment appears to provide them with the ability to support significant populations, without the need to engage in a nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle. This is underlined by the apparent domestication of banshees and direhorses for transport purposes."

"I see," mused Zhong, nodding sagely. "So essentially what you are saying is that they are a tree-dwelling Neolithic hunter-gatherer culture."

Phred grimaced slightly. He hated gross simplifications, but it seemed humans of a certain type revelled in them. "At a broad level that is a reasonable statement, Administrator Zhong," he said. "However, if you examine the bone knives they use, I suspect their ability to hold an edge is equivalent to anything human culture produced prior to the Industrial Revolution."

The bureaucrat chuckled slightly, "I understand what you are saying, Doctor. It is a mistake to apply simplistic human measures to an alien culture, as it will lead us to make erroneous deductions concerning the capabilities of the, um, Na'vi." He was well aware that academic specialists hated generalisations, and was well-used to stroking their egos in this matter.

Phred looked relieved at the administrator's statement. "Yes," he said. "The natives call themselves Na'vi, although the tribal or clan name of this grouping seems to be Omaticaya."

"What is the Avatar doing at the moment?" asked Zhong.

That was easily solved. Phred switched the main display from the linguistic analysis he had been working on when Zhong entered back to the direct video take from Sara's necklace. "Ah," he said, as his face warmed and coloured. "It seems that, um..."

"The Avatar is engaged in developing close personal relations with a member of the tribe," continued Zhong smoothly. "It seems that there are substantial similarities to human social activities."

"It would seem so," agreed Phred faintly.

"Perhaps it might be wise to grant them some privacy," suggested Zhong.

It was with a great sense of relief that Phred returned the monitor to display the linguistic analysis he had been running.

* * *

Sylwanin lay alongside Sara, her head propped on one elbow as she looked down at her lover. "You have a sweet face," she said, tracing one finger along the line of Sara's jaw, making her shiver. Normally, Sara did not like to be touched, but this – this was something different, something good. She liked being touched by Sylwanin. A lot.

"I think I will call you that, when we do this again," continued Sylwanin.

"I would like that," murmured Sara. Lissa had been right. Sex with someone you liked was so much better than taking care of it yourself, so the prospect of Sylwanin ravishing her again was quite delightful. Sara rolled the syllables of her new nickname around in her head, almost tasting the words. Kalinkey. It was a pretty name, particularly when it was being whispered into her sensitive ear, just as Sylwanin was doing right now. It was much prettier than being called Sara the Smurf.

* * *

Zhong sat in his office, considering the promising early results from the prototype Avatar. Despite the expense, it seemed that use of Avatar technology would provide a viable method of interacting with the native population. Perhaps they could even look at using this as a basis for recruiting local workers for the mining operation, in time.

He decided he would make favourable mention of his belief in the program in his monthly progress report back to Earth, and commit resources into developing base facilities for the Avatars that were due to arrive on the next starship. They were only a few months away, after all. If the program was to be a success, it would require proper investment.

It was a pity that he would not be here to see the flowering of the program. Then again, he was looking forward to returning home, as soon as he handed over his responsibilities to his incoming replacement. He could have the glory of the Avatar program, as long as Zhong got to go home on the next starship and enjoy his retirement.

* * *

Days rapidly turned into weeks. Sylwanin had been concerned that Sara would not find a place within the clan due to her squeamishness regarding hunting. There was no room within the Omaticaya for freeloaders, so it was with relief that she managed to persuade the clan's elderly healer to teach Sara his craft.

The healer – a male called Akwey – was well known for being abrupt and impatient with the tomfoolery of the young. This had driven any of the young Omaticaya from seeking to learn his craft, especially when the much more glamorous role of taronyu was beckoning.

However, Sara's difficulty with reading emotional states was a positive here. She calmly accepted his abrasive behaviour, and focused on absorbing the information that Akwey painstakingly laid out.

Sara found the complexity of the art of the healer pleasing. The correlation of symptoms of illness and injury with the application of herbal remedies was fascinating, and she readily developed a series of algorithms to provide a framework for her new knowledge. Her memories of bonding with the forest under the dome helped her substantially, as she used her understanding of the song of the growing things to help her remember what remedies were produced from which parts of which plant.

Akwey gradually unbent as he observed Sara's application to the tasks he set her, particularly as she asked intelligent questions about the qualities of closely related plants. He had rapidly realised that he had an exceptional student, and quickly moved on to teaching Sara the art of aligning bones and easing muscles, that normally he would not have started teaching another until at least two years into an apprenticeship.

"Kalinkey," he said one day, "Why did you not come here ten years ago?" He, like many of the Omaticaya, had taken to calling Sara by her new nickname after Sylwanin had inadvertently used it one evening at the evening meal. It seemed fitting, all agreed, as Sara did have an exceptionally sweet face, which was almost always matched by her expression.

"Ten years ago I was not Na'vi," she replied.

"That might explain it," he said, chuckling. He appreciated Sara's direct manner of speaking and lack of artifice. In this, she was almost more of a Na'vi than the Na'vi.

"I am curious, Akwey," said Sara, "As to the reason you became healer. I have heard it said that it is no fit occupation for a male."

"It is no secret," he replied. "Once, I was taronyu – hunter – and eagerly flew my ikran on the hunt like any young man. I lost my taste for the hunt after the woman who I wished to be my mate was injured by a talioang. Instead, I cared for her, and learnt what I could to try to make her well."

"What was her name?" asked Sara.

"Txilte," he sighed. "She was so beautiful." He sighed again, clearly lost in his memories.

"What happened?" asked Sara.

"She died," replied Akwey. "The healer of the Omaticaya had no answer, and there was nothing else I could do." He sighed yet again, and added, "Afterwards, I travelled among many clans, learning what I could of the healer's art from whomever I could, so that no other need share Txilte's fate."

Sara frowned. "I do not see why they say the art of the healer is not for men. Your motivation is true and worthy, and any that cannot see this should be ashamed."

Akwey nodded. He did not need the approval of others for his chosen life-path, but it was pleasant to hear these words from one so young. He opened the jar that contained the dried haw'naerftang berries – a very effective combined stimulant and diuretic, with the amusing side effect of turning one's water purple. The jar was only a third full, so he would have to send his apprentice out to collect some more berries. "Kalinkey," he asked, "Is there no young man for you?"

"Young man?" asked Sara, and frowned. Why would she need a young man? Sylwanin took care of her needs, and had introduced her to the Uniluke ceremony of tsumuke'awsiteng this same week – although it was hard to have a circle with only two women. She was not ready to think about mating with a male, or the scary prospect of bearing children. Why, she was not even an adult member of the Omaticaya yet.

"What of Tsawlontu?" he asked, a gleam in his eye. It had become a matter of amusement for the majority of the tribe how the young man with the large nose challenged Sara almost every day to unarmed combat, the outcome of which invariably ended with Tsawlontu gasping with air, or with his face pressed into muddy ground.

"Tsawlontu?" replied Sara. Why was Akwey asking about Tsawlontu? He seemed pleasant enough, apart from his obsessive need to engage in practice bouts with her. She had to admit that he was getting better, and it was taking longer to defeat the young man with each bout. "Why do you ask if I like Tsawlontu? I hardly ever talk to him, although I enjoy our practice bouts."

Akwey shrugged. "He seems to like you," he commented. "I have never seen him so interested in a female before, even if it is only to fight you."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sara. She didn't know what to say, and her heart skipped one or two beats. Perhaps she should ask Sylwanin what she thought, although from previous comments she knew that her friend of the tsumke'awsiteng thought Tsawlontu was a skxawng. "Perhaps at our next bout I will ask him if he likes me."

Akwey grinned. "Why don't you do that."

* * *

Lissa was tired. It seemed she was always tired now, no matter how long she slept. She missed seeing Sara, even if she could instantly see the same things that her foster daughter saw. What little free time Lissa had was spent on mastering the intricacies of Na'vi.

It was just as well Phred was busy writing up the initial results from Sara's insertion into the Omaticaya. Lissa had almost no energy for her marriage, and was happy to collapse into bed each night. She smiled at the thought of Phred – she was lucky to have found a man so gentle and understanding.

She flicked through her inbox, and saw that there was another v-mail for Sara from Nadia. At that moment she resolved that she would go to visit Sara tomorrow, no matter what Phred said. There shouldn't be any issue getting a chopper, and the hard core of Na'vi enthusiasts amongst the garrison would be only too happy to try out their Na'vi on the locals.

She yawned and stretched, cracking her jaw, and scratched idly under one armpit. Her hand stopped dead as she felt something hard under her skin, and her blood ran cold. One thought ran through her mind – 'Oh, fuck.'


	18. Chapter 18

Akwey had sent Sara out to collect more haw'naerftang berries. He told her to go to the grove of the Tree of Voices, where a number of the relatively uncommon haw'naerftang shrubs could be found. One or more of them were be sure to be fruiting.

Sure enough Akwey was right, as he almost always was. Sara smiled to herself, thinking that he was very like the Major in many ways, and was suddenly sad. Her eyes were moist as she cut the ripe berries from the shrubs and placed them in her basket.

Once she was done, she considered the willow trees. She had not joined with one since she had left the forest under the dome on Earth, and her heart ached a little for the place where she became truly herself.

Sara sighed. Akwey had told her to take her time, and not rush back as he wished to have his morning nap. He was very fond of taking naps, but then he was very old now, and Sara now understood that this was normal for old people. The explanation he had given her the first time she woke him from a nap had been most thorough, if a trifle loud. Besides, he seemed to be happier when his naps were not interrupted, although Sara still found it difficult to determine what people were feeling. Use of the subtle motions of a Na'vi's tail as a mood indicator still eluded her, as did many facial expressions. She sighed again, wondering if she would ever master this incredibly difficult task. Numbers were so much easier than people – humans or Na'vi.

She needed the comfort of her mother, but Lissa was not here, and would never come here. Sara placed her full basket on the ground, took her queue in both hands, and allowed its tendrils to wrap around three of the willow fronds.

It was almost like waking up from a deep sleep.

* * *

Lissa did not need to look at the output of the diagnostic imager to know her future was bleak. All she had to do was to look at the grim expression on the face of the chief surgeon.

"Have you ever been exposed to high levels of radiation?" he asked. "Were you outside the building during one of the plasma storms?"

"Not on Pandora," said Lissa. "I was part of the rescue effort in Kiev."

He sighed. "You don't have any of the other risk factors, Lissa," said the chief surgeon. "You must have ingested some material. That's the only explanation." He pointed to the monitor mounted on his office wall. "You have a particularly virulent form of cancer throughout much of your skeleton, and in your liver as well. That's not all – the cancer has metastasized through most of the rest of your body. It's everywhere – lymphatic nodes, brain, lungs, everywhere."

"What are the options?" she asked. This was not what she wanted to hear.

"If we were on Earth, with something this far advanced aggressive gene therapy would be your best option," he said. "We don't have the facilities here, so what I would normally recommend is to sling you into cryo right now for transport home. The only problem is that it has spread so quickly and is so prevalent that I think you would have less than a two percent chance of surviving cryo. I'm not even sure you have more than an even money chance of surviving until the _Evening Star_ makes orbit, whether or not you are in cryo. Even if you survived the trip to Earth, your cancer will be so far advanced that your prognosis will be very poor."

"Fuck," she whispered. Lissa had always wondered what it would be like to receive a death sentence and now she knew. It sucked.

"Surgery is out of the question, so your next best option is classical combined radiation and chemotherapy," he said. "The treatment will preclude you from going into cryo. Once we start you will be stuck on Pandora."

Lissa had to ask the question. "If I do nothing?"

"You'll be dead in less than three months," was the blunt answer. "Possibly less than a month. With therapy, we can stretch it out to maybe six months, but you will feel like absolute crap. If you are lucky and get a fucking miracle, remission isn't out of the question. You'll never be able to return to Earth though – cryo is too much of a risk factor."

"Thanks, Doc, for being so honest," she said. "I appreciate the lack of bullshit."

"Shall I set you up for your first session today?" he asked. "There is no time to waste."

Lissa shook her head. "There is something I have to do first," she said. "I'll be here tomorrow morning for treatment."

"Fair enough," he said. This was a common response among patients on being told this particular piece of bad news. "If I can ask, what do you have to do that is so urgent?"

"Tell my daughter," said Lissa.

* * *

Tsawlontu stopped in surprise. He had tracked the alien woman to the place of the Tree of Voices, only to find her linked in tsahaylu with the sacred trees. What was worse was the woman was swaying to the song of Eywa, her eyes shut, her soft voice keening to the music of the forest.

He could not interrupt. This level of communion with the forest was rare beyond belief, and was only gifted to those that were pure of heart and beloved of Eywa. Tsawlontu decided to wait until the woman was released by Eywa from her trance, and apologise for his error in treating her as an enemy.

"Tsawlontu," cried out a voice from behind him. He turned around to see a group of five young men of the clan. Änsìt – the leader of the young men – called out mockingly, "Why don't you attack her now, oh great and powerful warrior. You might stand a chance of winning if you hit her from behind."

"No," said Tsawlontu firmly. "I will not do such a dishonourable thing." He stepped up to Änsìt and pushed him hard in the chest. "Go away."

"Who is going to make me?" laughed Änsìt. The other four young men circled threateningly around Tsawlontu. "You and what war party?"

"I always knew you were a coward," sneered Tsawlontu.

"Get him!" yelled Änsìt, and flung a fist at Tsawlontu.

Tsawlontu blocked the inept blow easily enough – he had plenty of experience on how the alien woman had done the same thing to him – and felled Änsìt with an elbow to the side of the head. he grinned with satisfaction on feeling the joy of a well struck blow, a sensation that he had been denied in all his fights with the alien woman, but his happiness was only to last a few seconds. Suddenly he found himself fighting for his life as Änsìt's four cronies ganged up on him.

* * *

Sara was yanked from her reverie with the immensity that was Eywa by the sound of voices raised in anger. As she unlinked her queue from the willow, she saw Tsawlontu beset by three young men, fighting for his life. A fourth was on his hands and knees, shaking his head dazedly, while a fifth lay unconscious on the ground.

A red veil descended down on her vision, and Sara screamed in rage as she saw Tsawlontu go down. Before she knew it she was amongst the young men. Sara did not need to consult her combat equations. Instead, she moved by instinct, and three unconscious bodies almost exploded away from her. Sara swivelled towards the fourth, who was only now getting to his feet. He took one look at her snarling face and turned and ran.

She bent down over Tsawlontu, his arms raised to protect his head. Sara asked anxiously, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Tsawlontu lowered his arms and looked up into his rescuer's eyes. He said, "They were right. You really do have a sweet face."

* * *

Even as sick as she felt, Lissa still found the ride over the forest in the Samson chopper exhilarating. She had not told Phred where she was going – on reflection her action was a little unfair on her husband, but she did not want to distract him from his work.

"Are you ok, Doc?" asked Lewis. He thought she was looking a bit grey around the gills, and thought she might need the sick bag. It was a serious business throwing up wearing an exo-pack. You had a choice of drowning in your own vomit, or suffocating from excessive carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide while you threw if you took the mask off. That was why all Samson choppers carried a field expedient modified exo-pack mask with a built in sick bag known to all as the vomit visor.

Lissa smiled the broadest grin she could and gave the door gunner the thumbs up. She had gone down to the mess-hall to snaffle some volunteers to fly the mission. The three best Na'vi speakers – Lewis, Vitello and a little sex-bomb called Paklowski – had immediately stuck their hands up. They collared a pilot out of the ready room, and she had her flight crew.

"Hometree in two mikes," announced the pilot.

The chopper took a curving path as it approached the enormous tree that housed the Omaticaya. A flood of Na'vi poured out of their dwelling , causing Lissa to swallow nervously. The chopper orbited once, slowing, and flared for landing, touching down on the same piece of flat land where they had deposited Sara so long ago.

"Shut it down," ordered Lissa.

As the pilot cut the switches and the roar of the engines died, he commented, "I hope you know what you're doing, Doc. We're fucked if they decide they don't like us."

"You'll be fine," she replied, and got out of the chopper as the rotor blades slowed. "The rest of you, stay inside."

She heard Vitello mutter, "Shit, there are a lot of them."

His girlfriend Paklowski agreed, "I forgot how tall they are."

Lewis snapped, "Put a sock in it, guys. Let the Doc do her work."

Lissa waited for the crowd to draw close, waiting for a familiar figure to step out in front. She said, "'Awvea ultxari ohengeyä, nawma sa'nok lrrtok siveiyi, Tsahik."

Mo'at replied in the same language, "I am afraid you have the better of me, stranger. What are you called?" The tawtute was tiny, no larger than a young child, and looked harmless enough. Her language, though, was somewhat stilted.

"My name is Lissa."

"Then the Omaticaya are in your debt," smiled Mo'at, and the level of tension in the watching crowd eased noticeably. "You have sent a great gift to us. The spirit of an innocent such as your daughter is a precious thing. My daughter Sylwanin is especially grateful for your gift, for Kalinkey is a true friend to her."

"No, if there is any debt then it is I who owe you," averred Lissa. "You accepted my foster daughter Sara into your midst, though she was a stranger. I had hoped for this, for there is no place for one such as her among my people."

The Tsahik frowned – this was not good news, but she could see no sign of anything but truth from the tawtute woman. "This is sad," she said. "From these tidings I presume that you are not here to take your daughter away."

Lissa shook her head, saying, "No. I wish to speak to her, and give her the messages I bear. Then we shall depart. Is Sara here?"

"She left this morning...no, hold," said Mo'at.

From the rear of the crowd there were cries of, "Let me through!" A few seconds later Sara burst through the front ranks and stopped, standing stock still. She whispered, "Lissa...ma'sa'nok."

Lissa took a hesitating step towards her foster daughter, but any further action on her part was forestalled when Sara cried with joy as she swept up the tiny tawtute woman into her arms.


	19. Chapter 19

Much of the crowd had dispersed, leaving to give Sara and her tawtute foster mother some semblance of privacy. However, a knot of children had gathered about the Samson chopper, looking curiously at the alien flying machine, with a few adults – obviously anxious parents – keeping a wary eye on them.

One child said, "I don't see how it flies. It does not have wings like an ikran, nor does it float from a gasbag like a lonataya."

"That is because you did not see it land," replied a slightly older female child, whose name was Ney'tiri. Lewis thought she was about the equivalent age of a four or five year old human child. "When the beast roars, the blades within the circles spin and blow the air downwards, making a wind that pushes the earth away. I could see the wind it made ripple through the blades of grass."

"Smart child," said Lewis in Na'vi, leaning against his door gun. "That is exactly how a gunship flies."

"Is the kunsìp alive?" asked the first child, his eyes wide open at the alien being that spoke like one of the People.

Lewis smiled. "No, it is a made thing, like a basket, or a bow."

At the kind answer from the adult who was no taller than they, the children clustered closely around the chopper, bombarding the three soldiers in the cargo area with questions. Lewis, Paklowski and Vitello answered them cheerfully, although they were careful not to let the children touch any of the weapons.

* * *

"I have missed you," said Sara, once she carefully returned her foster mother to the ground, and knelt so they could look each other in the eyes.

"And I you," replied Lissa, amused that Sara had forgotten to switch languages to English.

"Why did you come?" asked Sara. "I thought you said that you would not come here, to this place. It was one of the rules." Normally Sara would have been upset that a rule had been broken, but not this time. Perhaps one could break the rules without penalty.

"Things change," answered Lissa simply. "I wanted to see you, and I have some messages for you."

"Messages?" asked Sara curiously.

Lissa replied, "There is a v-mail from Nadia."

* * *

"Hi, Sara," said Nadia, her fingers flicking through signs as she spoke. She had changed her wig from her natural dark brown to one in a glaring electric blue, something like the colour of the bony crest of a toruk."It's been almost four months since I sent the last v-mail, so I thought it was time to let you know I am going fine."

"I've been off the painkillers for a couple of months now, and studying hard," she said. "My counsellor has told me that my course load is insane." Nadia made a face. "What would she know? The people here have no idea of hard work, of the sacrifice that is required to attain what one truly desires. Besides, it's not like I have any social life. The only thing I do besides study and go to class is attend physical therapy sessions or visit my dermatologist."

"I achieved a major milestone today," Nadia announced with pride. "I managed to go the entire day without using a stick, and I didn't fall over once. Oh, and I got this in the mail." She unrolled a scroll of thick, heavy paper to reveal what looked like Cyrillic writing performed by a calligrapher, with a large red seal attached. "This is my diploma from Kiev University. There was supposed to be a graduation ceremony a week after the bomb, but I was otherwise engaged." She added, "I am now the proud possessor of a bachelor's degree in Fine Arts, majoring in classical dance."

"I have found the perfect way to get rid of unwelcome suitors," she said with a wry smile, as she rolled up the diploma and returned it to a drawer in her desk. "A boy who lived in the same residential college as me made a pass in the cafeteria – a football jock, totally full of shit. I told him to piss off, but he wouldn't take no for an answer and grabbed my arm. So I secured him in a wrist lock, forced him to his knees and dragged off my wig with my free hand. The poor little bunny fainted away at the sight of me."

"There was a little trouble over that incident. It turns out that I not-so-accidentally broke his arm in three places, and the campus police came around." She grinned a little more. "They were going to charge me with assault, but when they saw the tear he made in one of my less successful skin grafts where he grabbed me – it really hurt – the cops declined to lay charges. Instead, the prick was charged with sexual assault and expelled."

"The result is now I have a reputation across the entire campus for being the total bitch who cost the varsity football team its star quarterback." Nadia's eyes were blazing with barely contained fury. "The Vice-Chancellor came to see me to try to persuade me to drop the charges. I told him to fuck off, and if they didn't leave me alone I was sure that the media would love to hear how Stanford was treating a crippled survivor from Kiev. You never saw anyone grovel so abjectly. They even paid the medical expenses for my new skin graft, just to make sure I shut up."

Nadia took a deep breath to calm down, and continued, "So apart from one or two minor hiccups everything is going reasonably well. My academic results are fine, and I should finish my masters in about twelve months. After that, the doctorate is next on the list, and once I have that – the Avatar program."

"Oh, I almost forget to tell you," she said. "I met one of the first volunteers to be admitted to the Avatar program. She was one of the faculty members here, in the botany department – Doctor Grace Augustine. I only had time to shake her hand at her departure ceremony, and mention that some friends of mine were on Pandora. She seemed nice, though. I expect you'll be seeing her not long after you get this message."

"I have to go now – these v-mails are expensive, but I just wanted say I miss your sweet face, and to tell you I love you. Bye."

Nadia blew a kiss and reached to tap a button on the webcam facing her, the scene fading to black.

* * *

Lissa had been watching the v-mail on her data tablet with Sara. She commented, "Nadia surely is hell-on-wheels."

Sara frowned. Nadia didn't have wheels, she had legs. Why, she didn't even use a wheelchair, and she had just said that she didn't need a walking stick any more. How could she be hell-on-wheels? Sara was just about to ask Lissa how this could be when she realised that Lissa had used another colourful colloquialism, which presumably had something to do Nadia with having a fiery temperament. She replied to her foster mother, "Nadia is not a victim. She taught me that I should not be a victim either. I am proud to be her friend."

"Sara, darling," said Lissa cautiously, "Don't rely too much on Nadia coming here. She may not qualify to enter the Avatar program, and even if she does, it may be many years before she arrives."

"You are worried for me," said Sara, and squeezed Lissa's hand gently. "There is no need. Eywa has called to her – she told me. Nadia will come." Sara smiled, "I worry for the health of any that may try to stop her."

Lissa smiled back, "You might well be right, Sara. If anyone has the determination to make the Avatar program, even with her disabilities, it would be Nadia." She didn't say anything about her daughter's words about Eywa. It seemed that Sara had become a believer in the local deity, but Lissa would not say anything to damage her belief and potentially harm any chance of Sara integrating into the life of the Omaticaya.

"You said you had messages for me," said Sara. "The v-mail was only one message."

"There is one more message," said her foster mother. She paused to look at the ground, and then back into her foster daughter's alien face. For a moment Lissa thought her heart would break, and she almost decided not to tell Sara, but then her resolve hardened. It was better to tell Sara now, so that she could be prepared when the time came. "Sara, I am dying."

Sara made no immediate response – the shock of those words precluded anything else.

Lissa continued, "I have cancer. I may have a month, possibly as long as six months. But unless there is a miracle, I will die soon."

Sara started to shake her head, saying, "Kehe, no, no." She rose to her feet, and started stepping back, stepping away from her foster mother. "Kehe," she repeated. Sara tripped over backwards, her heel catching on an exposed tree-root. She did not try to stop herself from falling. Instead, when she hit the ground she turned onto her left side and curled up into a foetal ball.

"Sara!" cried out Lissa, running over to her daughter. She was joined by two female Na'vi as she knelt alongside Sara, and saw with relief that her lips were moving, and she could hear her counting in Na'vi. At least she had not retreated into a fugue state, although that was still a distinct possibility.

"What did you tell her?" hissed a young Na'vi woman who Lissa recognised as Sylwanin.

"That I am dying," snapped Lissa, more concerned with the health of her daughter than her own, and turned back towards Sara.

The blunt answer silenced her daughter's lover like nothing else could.

Mo'at – the other Na'vi woman - said quietly, "Is this certain?"

"Yes," replied Lissa, not looking at the Tsahik, her focus on her daughter. "A wasting disease. Perhaps one month, or maybe six." She took a deep breath, and called out gently, "Sara, come back. I thought you said Nadia had taught you not to be a victim."

There was a pregnant pause, until Sara whispered, "I don't want you to leave me."

"I don't want to leave either," replied Lissa. "It is not in my power to decide."

"Kalinkey," said Mo'at. "Eywa has granted the mother of your spirit a great gift. Few are given foreknowledge of their own death. You should be happy that she has been so blessed, and has time to prepare herself."

"We always knew there would be a time when I was no longer able to protect you," said Lissa. "That was why you have come here, so that you could live without fear. It is just a little sooner than I would have wished."

Sara sniffled and choked back some tears. "You are right," she admitted, and sat up.

The way that Lissa embraced her foster daughter left the Na'vi in no doubt that despite the strangeness of her form, the tawtute woman truly loved Sara as her daughter.

* * *

Phred had been watching the take from Sara's necklace with some of the research assistants when he heard his wife announce her forthcoming death. There was sudden silence among the audience, who did not know what to say, or do. They drifted away, not saying anything, except for one who placed a hand on Phred's shoulder and said, "Sorry, boss. We all liked her."

Phred shut his eyes to hide his pain, and nodded. "Thanks," he said, as the research assistant left the lab. He knew why Lissa had not told him first. He would have insisted that she be rushed into what was laughingly called the hospital here, and not allowed out. A selfish response, he thought, but Phred wanted his wife to live.

Instead, she had done the unselfish thing, and gone to tell her daughter first, before she could be stopped and locked away.

Lissa was a better person than he.

* * *

When their embrace finally broke apart, Lissa wiped some tears from her face, and smiled. "There is a young man waiting to talk to you, Sara," she said. "A very good looking young man, despite his large nose."

Sara, Sylwanin and Mo'at turned around to see a rather sheepish looking Tsawlontu. His face coloured darkly as he said, "Kalinkey left her basket at the Tree of Voices, when she heard the noise of the tawtute flying beast. I do not wish her to get into trouble with Akwey for failing in an errand." He held out the basket, full with berries cut from haw'naerftang bushes.

Mo'at smiled, "A thoughtful deed, Tsawlontu. The anger of Akwey is to be feared, as I well remember." She shook her head ruefully, until she saw Sylwanin's unbelieving eyes upon her. "Did I never tell you, my daughter, that before I was selected to be the next Tsahik, I was apprenticed to Akwey?"

"No, mother," said Sylwanin, who could not picture her formidable parent submitting to a tongue-lashing from anyone, let alone Akwey.

Sara took the basket from Tsawlontu and said shyly, "Irayo."

The young man beat a hasty retreat.

"I would say that is a young man that you will be seeing a lot more of," commented Lissa drily.

"He likes to fight me," said Sara, confused about what had just happened.

"Bah," said Sylwanin. "You can do a lot better than Tsawlontu."

Lissa was surprised by Sylwanin's comment. It appeared that lesbian relationships between Na'vi women were quite normal, and did not preclude them mating with a male. "Are you alright, Sara?"

Sara said, "I am sad, but I will be ok. I have Sylwanin as my friend now." She smiled sadly and asked, "Will you come again, Lissa?"

"I hope so," she replied. "I am afraid it is time for me to go now, Sara. I need you to be brave."

Her foster daughter nodded. "I will try."

Lissa was about to return to the chopper, when the Tsahik bent down and whispered a few words in her ear. She looked up in surprise at the imposing figure, and replied, "Thank you, Mo'at. I will remember that."

* * *

As they were flying back to Hell's Gate, Paklowski said, "I'm sorry, Doc. We all like you."

"What?" asked Lissa. She had been thinking about the words that the Tsahik had whispered in her ear - 'When it is time, if you wish to always be close to your daughter, come to us.'

"We were monitoring the audio take from Sara's necklace, just in case anything went wrong and we had to do an extraction," said the little blonde. "We heard everything. I imagine everyone on the base knows the bad news by now."

"Shit," swore Lissa under her breath. She had forgotten all about that. What the hell was she going to say to Phred?


	20. Chapter 20

Administrator Zhong sat at his desk, his hands steepled together, almost as though he was in prayer. This, of course, was a total impossibility. He was well known as being a dedicated atheist, and as an admirer of the legendary Chairman Mao, the man who had begun the revival of the ancient empire of China - a deeply flawed man, as Zhong was all too willing to admit, with many personal failings and the blood of millions on his hands, but nonetheless a great leader. If only the great man had taken more notice of the teachings of Confucius, thought Zhong, then he might have been one of the greatest leaders that had ever lived. That was why a classic portrait of Mao occupied the wall behind his desk, as an ever-present reminder to Zhong that even the greatest of leaders had their flaws.

The man that the entire garrison knew as the Mandarin gazed impassively at Phred, who was wondering why he had been summoned to this office.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Doctor Palmer," said Zhong. He was genuine in his thanks – many of the gweilo were less than punctual, a habit that he detested and spoke of lack of respect.

Phred replied, "It is always a pleasure to meet with you, Administrator Zhong." It was only a little lie, thought Phred. Zhong was an interesting man, but very difficult to read or predict. By all accounts he had been extremely effective in his role as administrator of all RDA facilities on Pandora, even if he was seen as almost totally lacking in the human qualities treasured by most.

Zhong did not react to this lie – which he understood quite well was a lie, as he knew that many of the Westerners under his control did not personally like him – but at least it showed that this gweilo was showing him the proper respect, which spoke well for his character. It made it all the more difficult to tell this man what he had to. "I am sorry that your wife is ill," he said. "I have been impressed by her ability and dedication to your project, and for her loyalty to your foster daughter. I understand her condition is quite serious, and it is always troubling when unfortunate things occur to such an upright woman."

Phred's lips tightened briefly, before he replied stiffly, "I will convey your good wishes to my wife when I visit her today." He paused for a moment, thinking the last four months had been absolute hell for Lissa, before continuing, "While I am appreciative of your concern, this is not why you requested this meeting."

The Mandarin sighed. How like a gweilo to want to rush to the purpose of a meeting, without engaging in the proper preliminaries. It was at times like this he longed to return to China, and speak his native language rather than the barbarian English he was forced to speak here. "You are correct, Doctor Palmer," he replied. "You are aware that the _ISV Evening Star_ has entered the solar system? If it continues to plan, the starship will achieve Pandoran orbit in just over a month."

"I saw the news item on the net yesterday," confirmed Phred, wondering where this was going.

"Good," said Zhong. "What you are not aware of is that I have received orders from RDA headquarters regarding your project over the superluminal communications link with Earth. They have been very pleased with your reported progress on understanding the Na'vi language and culture, as have I."

Now Phred was filled with a sense of foreboding. Zhong was about to lay some serious shit on him.

"You are to return to Earth on the _Evening Star_, along with a number of personnel qualified to speak Na'vi, to run the language school for the Avatar program," said Zhong. "I understand this provides you with some difficulty, as your wife will not be able to accompany you due to her medical condition."

Phred started to rise out of his chair, and was about to angrily object to such a callous order, when Zhong ordered, "Sit!" The whip crack of military command was in his voice, leading a small voice in Phred's mind to wonder what Zhong's background was prior to joining the RDA. Reluctantly, Phred resumed his seat, fuming with unexpressed anger.

"The orders I received required your wife to accompany you," said Zhong. "As the chief surgeon assures me she would not survive cryogenic stasis, and is effectively unable to leave this world, I have undertaken action to persuade my superiors that the orders regarding your wife are futile. Fortunately, I have managed to negotiate an agreement for her to remain on Pandora on humanitarian grounds as a guest of the RDA for the remainder of her life, however long that may be."

Phred ground his teeth together and said dangerously, "What about my relationship with my wife?" At this very moment, if he had a weapon in his hand he could have killed this inhumane monster of a bureaucrat, this excuse for a man.

Administrator Zhong looked at the gweilo coldly. "I am afraid the contract you signed contains no provisions regarding such matters, and my duty is very clear. I am required to return you to Earth – there is no ability to apply any amount of discretion in this instance. In any case, my understanding is that it is doubtful your wife will even survive long enough for the _Evening Star_ to achieve Pandoran orbit, so any prospect of a lengthy separation is fairly much a moot point."

"Why you cold bastard..." started Phred.

"Enough!" snapped Zhong. "I am not interested in your opinion of my character, however good it may make you feel to share it. You are here to listen. Can you do that?"

Phred sat there, his lips thin and his arms crossed, glowering with barely suppressed rage. Slowly, he nodded once.

"Now, are you aware of the process for writing off major assets lost in the field?" asked Zhong. "A proper understanding of the financial processes of the RDA is very important for senior personnel to function effectively on Pandora." He tapped his index finger on a large bound volume sitting on his desk. "I had to acquaint myself with these processes the first time the RDA lost a Samson to a Great Leonopteryx, and it took me months to sort out the paperwork until RDA Central accepted the loss. I strongly recommend that you become familiar with the provisions for such incidents."

What the hell was the Mandarin going on about?

Zhong continued, "On a totally separate matter, according to the rest of my orders from RDA Central regarding your project, I am required to return the Avatar to Earth. The Research and Development department are eager to study her, as there is great interest in permanent personality transfer to human clones. The market for such is potentially worth trillions of dollars, as I am sure you understand. The head of R and D has successfully argued that continued use of such an expensive asset on unproductive alien cultural studies is a criminal waste of a two hundred million dollar asset, as opposed to the potential gains that his research will provide the company."

"But it will kill Sara leaving Pandora!" objected Phred, finally able to find his voice.

"You are quite correct, Doctor Palmer," said Zhong. "The study will require removal of her brain to enable inspection of the cellular characteristics of the Avatar brain that enabled her permanent personality transfer."

"That's murder!" shouted Phred, rising to his feet.

"Do you want me to summon the guard and have you gagged and restrained?" demanded Zhong in a raised voice, his face showing the first signs of any emotion that Phred had even seen from the man. "Sit, Doctor Palmer, and listen. I am quite prepared to have you trussed up tighter than a Christmas turkey. They will be here five seconds after I press this button." He held his hand over a red button mounted on his desk, the clear plastic cover that normally covered it flicked open.

Slowly Phred resumed his seat, and the bureaucrat closed the cover of the panic button.

"I need you to understand something," said Administrator Zhong. "The Avatar is an expensive piece of RDA property. It has no legal rights to continued existence, and the RDA can do whatever it likes with it. A pet dog on Earth has more rights than does your foster daughter, and there is nothing you can do about it. No court on Earth would find against the RDA vivisecting a creature that it created in its own laboratories. If you try to circumvent these orders, you will be charged with grand theft and suffer the legal consequences, as the book value of the Avatar is set at two hundred million dollars. Is this clear?"

"Crystal clear," ground out Phred between his teeth.

Zhong looked coolly at the furious gweilo sitting across the desk without saying a word, the air between them so tense it could be cut with a knife. "You disappoint me, Doctor Palmer," said Zhong finally. "I had thought you an intelligent and perceptive man, totally in control of your emotions." He pushed the bound volume sitting on his desk towards the researcher. "I strongly suggest you read this volume, and study it closely. I have found it an excellent exercise for maintaining control of my more violent instincts, essential for living on a world as dangerous as Pandora. The section beginning on page three hundred and ninety-eight I think you will find is particularly illuminating."

The realisation of what the Mandarin was not saying to him hit Phred like a thunderbolt. Zhong was suggesting that he should fake Sara's death, and have her written off the RDA books just like a smashed up chopper. He picked up the weighty volume and looked at it with wonder. By God Zhong was a sneaky bastard. No wonder he was good at his job.

As Phred looked up at the man sitting across the desk, Zhong gave him a wintry smile and said, "Perhaps there is hope for you yet, Doctor Palmer."

"Thank you, Administrator Zhong," said Phred, holding the RDA finance manual to his chest as though it was Holy Writ. "I will endeavour to follow your advice."

"I am sorry I cannot do more," replied Zhong calmly. "What the Sec-ops troops call 'The Adventures of Sara the Smurf' has been a most illuminating and productive project. I imagine you will receive many awards as a result of your work, even though it will be scant recompense for the loss of your wife and foster daughter." Zhong paused in thought for a moment before asking, "Do you have any images of Sara? She doesn't appear in any of the research footage and there was a system crash last night that corrupted all the relevant imagery."

"I'm afraid not," replied Phred, finally figuring out the game that Zhong was playing.

"A shame," said Zhong. "I would have liked a copy for my own personal use." He paused for a moment, wondering at the stupidity and slowness of the gweilo. They would never survive in a Chinese company. He picked up his data tablet to open up the mine production projections he had been meaning to review for the past two days to indicate that the meeting was over. Zhong felt rather than saw the researcher move to leave the office, and he said, "Oh, Doctor Palmer, there is one last thing."

"Yes?" asked Phred.

"Eywa ngahu," said Administrator Zhong, without lifting his eyes from the data tablet.

"Eywa ngahu," echoed Phred wonderingly.


	21. Chapter 21

"When are you going to say something?" asked Mìnkxetse. "You've been umming and ah-ing for four months now, ever since you carried her basket."

Tsawlontu looked daggers at his younger brother. "Soon," he snapped. "I'll ask her soon. And shut up about the basket, will you?" What was it about younger siblings? They could be so damn irritating, and there was nothing you could do about it except endure the constant sniping and innuendo.

The two brothers were walking to their favourite swimming hole in order to wash away the grime of a fruitful day's hunting.

"It's not like you don't have lots of opportunity to ask her," persisted Mìnkxetse. "You spar with her almost every day. The entire clan knows that you are interested in Kalinkey."

"Everyone except Kalinkey," muttered Tsawlontu.

"Sylwanin is right," said Mìnkxetse. "You are a skxawng. Only a skxawng would never ask the woman he wants if she is interested in him."

Tsawlontu riposted drily, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, my brother." They walked several more steps in silence, when he sighed, "You're right. I am a skxawng. It's just..."

"She treats you as though you were her brother of the same parents," completed Mìnkxetse, reading his brother's mind, a habit at which he was entirely too practiced, thought Tsawlontu.

"Yes," agreed Tsawlontu. He kicked at a stone on the path. Unfortunately, his big toe connected with the inoffensive rock, which skittered into the undergrowth, leaving Tsawlontu wincing from an incipient bruise. "Perhaps it is because she came from the tawtute. A woman of the clan would not be so, um..."

"Obtuse," supplied his helpful younger brother, resolving to stick to courting a woman of the clan – at least when the time for courting came for him. "Kalinkey is a little strange."

Tsawlontu sighed, "That is part of her appeal."

* * *

Sara had been run off her feet for most of the day. It seemed that half the clan had required the services of a healer, and the only one available had been her. Akwey had more or less delegated almost all the work to her for the past few weeks, leaving her alone while he went fishing with the old men of the Omaticaya.

Although, she reflected, the old men rarely returned to Kelutrel with any fish. Instead, they appeared to drink a great deal of fermented berry liquor accompanied with salted dried meat, which only made them thirstier. This did not make sense to Sara. She had tried the liquor once at Akwey's suggestion, but the taste was too bitter, and it made her head feel muzzy. The tirea'tutee that she shared with Sylwanin during Uniluke was much nicer. She suspected that the purpose of each expedition was not primarily about fish, instead being about one of the rules between people that she had not yet managed to codify.

When she told Akwey her suspicions, he had chuckled, and told Sara that she was learning a little too quickly about the foibles of old men.

How could one learn too quickly? Sara did not understand this comment – surely acquisition of knowledge was a good thing. Perhaps it was another one of those invisible rules that she did not understand, thus she let Akwey's comment slide.

She gazed at the shelving holding the containers for all the dried herbs and medicinal compounds. Akwey had placed each container in a highly haphazard manner, using the first available empty shelf space to place any jar at hand. Sara had found this profoundly disturbing, making her skin crawl unwelcomely, so she had taken time to devise a method of distributing the various pottery jars that was both logically meaningful and aesthetically pleasing – at least to her.

"Wiya!" she muttered under her breath. Akwey had swapped two of the jars. He had not noticed the careful pattern that she had established, recognising each jar by sight, or perhaps by smell, or even by some subtle distortion of the space-time continuum that was not obvious to Sara – he did not seem to look at most of the jars that he selected, but nonetheless always seemed to select the correct jar for his purpose. She had no idea how he managed to accomplish this feat, and was impressed in spite of herself. This chaotic situation was, however, not to be tolerated as far as Sara was concerned.

Carefully, Sara exchanged the two jars that were out of place, orienting them precisely so that the pattern was correct and complete. The tenseness that had gathered in her shoulders eased, and she breathed out with pleasure, with the sure knowledge of a job well-done.

* * *

The mess-hall was quiet, with no-one really watching the monitor showing 'The Adventures of Sara the Smurf'. The apparently endless duties of a clan healer, while initially interesting, had lost their appeal, with many of the hard-core Na'vi enthusiasts sure that they could treat virtually every common illness and injury suffered by the natives.

"We're leaving on the _Evening Star_," said Vitello, a mug of coffee in his hands. "Both of us."

Lewis exclaimed, "What? I thought you had three years to go in your hitch. Paklowski too."

"Nope," said Paklowski. "We got our orders this morning. We're going to be Na'vi language instructors at Avatar school." She was looking particularly happy today.

"Fuck," said Lewis, wondering why he didn't get the gig. His Na'vi was just as good as his two friends.

"Yeah," said Vitello. "Zhong called us into his office this morning. He told us there were two slots available, and we could have first crack at them. We'll even get our end of hitch bonuses."

Lewis' eyes narrowed. "There is something you're not telling me," he accused.

Paklowski grinned even more. "Vitello is making an honest woman of me," she said. "He popped the question just after we saw Zhong."

The soldier snorted out a chuckle. "It seems the Mandarin is a closet romantic," said Lewis, and sighed. "That's why I've been left standing at the altar. Again."

Vitello was grinning as much as his bride-to-be. "Sucks to be you."

There was only one thing Lewis could say. "Yeah."

* * *

The late afternoon sunlight streamed golden through the leaves of the forest. Sara had come a little way away from Hometree so she could have some privacy, but not so far there would be danger from predators. She knew that even palulukan and toruk were wary of approaching a dwelling place of the Na'vi.

Sara knew this place well – it was where she had taken to sparring with Tsawlontu. There was a level space between the trees that was evenly grassed and uncluttered with protruding roots or stones. Perfect, in fact, as a practice ground for fighting, which is what Sylwanin had said when she off-handedly suggested this location to Sara.

Her friend and sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng had an odd expression on her face when she had made this suggestion, especially when she remarked that Sara was unlikely to be interrupted there. Sylwanin had also said that the ground was soft and smooth, so if Sara happened to fall during a bout with Tsawlontu she would find the grassy sward quite comfortable.

"Why would I fall?" asked Sara. "I am a lot better at fighting than Tsawlontu. I do not need to fall to beat him."

Sylwanin had laughed, and replied, "You might want to lose for a change."

As Sara frowned at her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, wondering what she meant, Sylwanin added, her eyes twinkling, "If not for you, Kalinkey, then think of Tsawlontu. It will be easier on him."

"Oh," said Sara. "I had not thought of that."

What followed next brought a smile to Sara's reminiscing face. Sylwanin had laughed, and drew Sara down to the ground to demonstrate how comfortable that particular piece of ground could be.

Afterwards, Sara had asked, "Sylwanin, does Tsawlontu like me?" This question had been troubling her for some time.

"He carried your basket for you, didn't he?" responded her lover, as she lightly caressed Sara's face with her fingertips, making Sara shiver with pleasure.

"What does that mean?" she asked. "I really want to know."

"Sometimes I forget that you were not born into the clan," said Sylwanin, running her hands over Sara's breasts, tweaking her nipples and making her moan.

"You're trying to distract me," accused Sara. "Getting me all hot and bothered again."

"Yes," agreed Sylwanin, who stopped any further discussion by closing Sara's mouth with a kiss.

Sara never did find out what a male carrying a female's basket meant. Whenever she later brought the topic up with Sylwanin, somehow she was always diverted – more often than not by seduction. She suspected that this was a lover's game, that somehow Sylwanin was teasing her, although she wasn't sure how she knew this.

In comparison, making a satisfying pattern with her wooden blocks was much simpler than finding out this hidden secret.

The thought of her wooden blocks – the blocks Lissa had returned to her on her foster mother's last visit to Kelutrel – reminded Sara why she had come to this place. It was to deal with something she had been deferring for some time.

* * *

"What's that?" asked Mìnkxetse, but his brother was already gone. It was then that he realised that they were close to Kalinkey's sparring ground, so he decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and neglected to follow his brother.

He did, after all, have some semblance of a sense of self-preservation, despite what Tsawlontu had frequently told him.

* * *

"What's wrong?" cried out Tsawlontu. He had burst onto their sparring ground, to find Kalinkey kneeling on the ground, emitting a low moan as tears poured down her face. The sight of his sparring partner in such distress was like having a fist gripped hard around his heart.

Sara turned towards the interloper, and attempted a tremulous smile, but failed miserably. She had opened up the space in her spirit where she had locked away her grief for all these months, only to be stunned by the anguish she was now experiencing. "Ma'sa'nu...Lissa," she sobbed. "She is dying."

Tsawlontu knelt to face her, and clasped his hands around hers. "I am sorry, my love," he said, not realising how he had addressed Sara. "Is there anything I can do?"

Shaking her head, Sara could not reply. The grief that she had locked away for so long was tearing her apart, so much so that she could not shut it off again

He could see what her sorrow was doing to this woman. The pain in her spirit was evident in every inch of her body, pain that he would give anything to ease. Unlike Sara, though, he knew there was a way to give her respite. Without thinking, without considering any of the consequences, Tsawlontu took his queue and united it with hers in tsahaylu.

Waves of anguish came surging down into his brain, smashing about his self like the ocean breaking against the shore. He struggled up through the raw emotion, and sent one thought to this woman. Slowly, ever so slowly the storm that raged inside Sara's soul calmed.

Their eyes opened, eyes that neither of them realised had been closed. Tsawlontu gazed at Sara's sweet tear-stained face that he cradled between his hands, deep into the glory of her innocent eyes.

"Why did you not say?" asked Sara wonderingly, her soul open in all its simplicity to this man. Her grief for Lissa was still there, still an ache in her heart, but something else had been added – the sure knowledge that Tsawlontu loved her.

Her life-mate – for she knew beyond knowing that Tsawlontu was now her mate for all of her life, and that she loved him – smiled ruefully. "You are not the easiest person to talk to," he replied.

"I am too!" she replied hotly, her eyes flaring with passion to match her temper, which only made Tsawlontu love her the more.

"Every time I tried," he said, "You would hit me here." He placed his open palm on her solar plexus, adding, "It is very hard to say 'I love you' when you cannot breathe."

"Oh," she said doubtfully. Perhaps Tsawlontu was right. She had hit him in the solar plexus an awful lot during their bouts. "What do we do now?" she asked, unsure of what Na'vi custom demanded when one took a life mate.

"Well," replied Tsawlontu, a little taken aback at the directness of her question. "It is sort of traditional that we make love, and then go to ask your parents for their blessing."

"Good. I would like very much to see Lissa," she said practically. "And Phred too, of course."

"Kalinkey, about the love-making..." started Tsawlontu hesitatingly.

"Oh, yes," she interrupted enthusiastically. "I would like to do that too. Can we start now?"

No sooner than Tsawlontu had said yes, Sara had pushed him to the ground to begin the serious business of kissing Tsawlontu. She made sure that she kissed him just like she had been shown so long ago by her friend Nadia Khudoshin.

Tsawlontu's impression of the first kiss from his life-mate was that it was definitely not a disaster.

Far from it.


	22. Chapter 22

"Holy crap!" said one of the soldiers, interrupting the stunned silence in the mess-hall.

No-one had managed to reach for the remote control, instead watching the large monitor as though it was displaying a train wreck in slow motion.

"How the fuck could she fit..." said another soldier, not managing to complete the question.

"A fucking stallion would feel inadequate," commented a third jealously.

A female soldier added enviously, "Lucky girl."

At that moment, the sound of Lewis' voice drifted around the doorway into the mess. Three soldiers instantly dived for the remote, knocking it to the floor, where a fourth managed to snag it and switch the monitor off a scarce millisecond before Lewis, Vitello and Paklowski rounded the corner.

"Hey dudes!" said Paklowski cheerfully. She glanced at the screen and noted that it was off. "Is Sara the Smurf having sex again? That girl is insatiable." She didn't note the pale faces of the collected soldiery, and was puzzled not to get an immediate answer.

"Ah, yes," said the soldier holding the remote control. "She's having sex." He paused for a moment before adding cautiously, "I think that's what you call it."

Lewis said, "Ok, spill it, guys."

The female soldier who had commented on Sara's good fortune replied, "Yeah, Sara's screwing Tsawlontu, and he's fucking built." She grinned, and said, "I'm going to sign up for the Avatar program as soon as I get home, if all Na'vi men have that kind of equipment."

"Just how big is he?" asked Vitello curiously.

The girl indicated comparative length and girth, whereupon Paklowski commented, "Oh. I thought Tsawlontu was something special." She turned to Vitello and said, "He's around your size, darling."

The blushing Vitello said tightly, "Not here, Linda."

Lewis barked with laughter, as Paklowski dragged her red-faced fiancé out of the mess-hall, no doubt to the right place for discussing such things. And by the look of her predatory expression, it would be for much more than idle talk.

"Bitch," said the female soldier softly, wondering why she had never set her cap at Vitello. She shrugged. It was too late now.

* * *

Sara was humming happily as she sorted the pottery jars again. She had thought of a different, more logical arrangement while she was lying in post-coital bliss with Tsawlontu, and was busy rearranging the jars to suit.

"Are you ready, Kalinkey?" asked Tsawlontu, who had just entered the healer's alcove.

"Ready for what?" she asked, turning around to greet her new life-mate with a smile. If he wanted sex again, that was more than fine by her, although people might walk in and interrupt them. She did not relish stopping to deal with their healing requirements, and having to start all over again. It would be very distracting.

"Ready to leave," he replied. "We must go to the tawtute place to seek the approval of your parents, and obtain their blessing."

The smile disappeared from Sara's face. "No," she said firmly. "We cannot go."

"No?" he asked incredulously. "It is traditional to do this."

Sara snorted, "It is traditional to wait until both mates are adults, and have passed through Uniltaron." Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she said, "You seem to have forgotten this rule."

"It is not important," said Tsawlontu, missing the change of note in her voice. He was, after all, only a male.

"Oh?" asked Sara, taking a small step forward. She was holding a small jar of powdered leaves – a very powerful laxative – in her hand as though it was a lethal weapon. "Is it important to keep one's word? Like I gave my word to Sylwanin that we would share Uniluke this night?" Her fingers tightened around the jar.

Tsawlontu was suddenly aware that he was in trouble somehow, as though he had stepped over some unmarked boundary. However, he decided that he would press on regardless. He thought that it was important that he show no sign of weakness. "Women's business," he said dismissively, and waved his hand in the air. "This is much more important. Come."

Unfortunately, the wave of his hand in the air hid the flare of anger in Sara's eyes from his vision. It also hid the tensing of her arm muscles, just before she screamed and unerringly threw the jar at his head. Despite her fury, she had precisely calculated the trajectory of the jar so that it would not strike one of the vulnerable areas of Tsawlontu's skull. After all, she did not want to kill her new life-mate – he was excellent at sex, and she wished to enjoy more of his skilful hands and mouth, not to mention his exceptionally beautiful thing – she just wanted to hurt him. Just a little bit. For being insensitive.

Tsawlontu blinked several times, somehow finding he was lying on the floor gazing blearily up at the ceiling of the healer's alcove. He had no clear recollection of how he arrived in this position. Sara was fussing over him, applying some lotion to his forehead. "Ow!" he said, as it stung and burned his skin.

"Stay still," ordered Sara firmly. "You'll get blood everywhere otherwise." She moved away to mix some healing resin, and then came back to spread it smoothly over the wound. As the resin cooled and hardened, she commented with satisfaction, "There should hardly be any scar at all."

"Oh," he said. He gained the distinct impression that he had lost control over the discussion they had been having.

"You should rest quietly here, my love," advised Sara. "Akwey will return from his fishing expedition soon. He will check on you, and tell you if it is ok to move."

He tried to get up, only for Sara to firmly push him back down. "Rest, I said," she ordered. "I am going with Sylwanin now to share Uniluke, and I will see you tomorrow morning. Then we will have sex again, and after that we shall leave for Hell's Gate – the tawtute place."

She bent down to kiss him on the lips, picked up a large pottery jar, and left.

He was laying there for what seemed like only a minute or so when a male came into the alcove, and looked down at him. He blinked a couple of times to clear his blurry vision. It was not Akwey, it was his younger brother standing over him, shaking his head sadly.

"Pxasik!" swore Tsawlontu. It would have to be Mìnkxetse. He would never hear the end of this.

"Skxawng!" said Mìnkxetse. "You still have no idea of how to handle women, do you?"

"As if you would do any better," retorted Tsawlontu.

"I'm not the one lying comatose on the floor," pointed out his brother, stating the obvious. It was, however, an excellent point in his favour.

Tsawlontu sighed. "I don't suppose you could keep quiet about this," he requested.

"There's not a lot of point, really," replied Mìnkxetse. "Half the clan heard every word – Kalinkey's voice carries very well – and if the other half doesn't hear about it before sunset then we did not share the same womb."

Really, he should be getting used to being the butt of everyone's amusement after the last few months, but then Tsawlontu brightened. He could never have imagined the sheer ecstasy of mating in tsahaylu with one as passionate as Kalinkey.

"I suppose from that stupid grin on your face that you actually did it," commented Mìnkxetse. "Kalinkey has accepted you as life-mate."

"Yes," agreed Tsawlontu.

"Then congratulations are in order, skxawng," said Mìnkxetse. "I just hope you manage to survive her love."

"So do I," replied Tsawlontu, wondering the same thing. "So do I."

* * *

Sara held up her left hand, watching the colours of living wash over her fingers. The hallucinogenic properties of tirea'tutee were fascinating, let alone its intoxicating effect. She started to giggle as she wiggled her fingers – it never ceased to fascinate her how many fingers she could count on her hand. There had to be at least eleven at the moment. Eywa knows how many fingers there were on her right.

"So, Kalinkey," slurred Sylwanin. "You are life mates with Tsawlontu now." She took a large swig of tirea'tutee from the bowl and held it out for Sara to take. "It's taken you long enough."

It took several attempts for Sara to direct her hand to intersect with the bowl of total spirit. There must have been some localised distortions in the space-time continuum, she thought. "Yes," sniggered Sara, once she had a firm grip on the bowl. "He likes me a lot, and I like him." She drained the bowl, and somehow managed to refill it by dipping it into the pottery jar that she had brought to their trysting place.

"Don't you love him?" asked her friend of the tsumuke'awsiteng. Sylwanin was curious. She had never really been attracted to a male.

"That too," giggled Sara, attempting to manoeuvre the bowl back to her mouth. "I love his thing," she added. "It feels so good when it is inside me, and he moves it up and down, in and out, round and round." She giggled again, vaguely wondering why she never giggled except during Uniluke, and drank deeply again. "Tsahaylu is woooonderful. I can feel him feeling me feeling him feeling me, round and round and round, like a merry-go-round."

Sylwanin took the bowl which her sister of the circle was waving about, sloshing the precious fluid over the edges. "I'll take that, my darling," she said, and drained it. She vaguely wondered what a merry-go-round was, not recognising the tawtute word.

"I love you too, Sylwanin," said Sara. "I love you and Lissa and Tsawlontu and I even love Phred." She hiccupped several times, and flopped onto her back. "I love having sex with you." She giggled some more, and then asked plaintively, "Why can't I move anymore?"

"I think it's almost time for the best part," said Sylwanin, attempting to remove the lid from the other pottery jar. She also was having trouble directing her hand, although not as much as Sara. "Why did you hit him?"

"He tried to get me to break a rule, the poor darling," said Sara dreamily. "I don't break rules. Not the rules I know about."

"Ow!" said Sylwanin. The kali'weya had plunged its stinger into her hand as she extracted it from the pottery jar. Her head began to immediately clear of the effects of the tirea'tutee, and she hurried to get the vicious little creature to sting Sara as well, before it stung her again, or she became overcome by the the effects of the poison.

"Ow!" agreed Sara.

Not surprisingly, Sylwanin lost her grip on the kali'weya and it scuttled off into the undergrowth, making a break for freedom. "Wiya," she swore. "I'll have to get another one."

Sara began to growl, as she felt the heat of the neurotoxin gather in her breasts and groin, blasting away the effects of the tirea'tutee. She rolled over and crouched, a predatory gleam in her eye, before she sprang at her lover, covering her with kisses, before Sara's brain exploded into ecstasy.

* * *

The sun was rising as the two sisters of the tsumuke'awsiteng lazed in the hot spring, the drug-driven passion of Uniluke finally dissipated. Sylwanin swam over to Sara, took her in her arms and gently kissed her.

"I'm not looking forward to sharing you," whispered Sylwanin, who had known for months that this moment would come.

"Why?" asked Sara. "I'm no less yours now than I was yesterday." As she kissed Sylwanin, Sara's hand slipped between her lover's thighs, and she caressed her gently. Sylwanin's body stiffened, and then rippled with long waves of pleasure, before Sara allowed her kiss to end.

"I love you," groaned Sylwanin, once she could speak again.

"And I you," responded Sara, looking lovingly into her eyes. "Not just for Uniluke, either," she added.

Sylwanin objected, "But it is customary that once a woman has mated, she will only share with her sisters in Uniluke, not at other times."

Sara replied happily, "It is a custom, not a rule."

The response she received back was a dazzling smile.


	23. Chapter 23

"Hey Doc Palmer," called out Lewis. "Wait on a sec." His boots clattered on the metal grill forming the floor of the corridor as he jogged after the scientist.

Phred turned to wait for the soldier – one of the few he had any time for. "What is it, Lewis?" he asked, somewhat testily.

"I wanted to ask what kind of celebration you wanted for Sara," said Lewis. He frowned slightly. The scientist looked exhausted, as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. No doubt the poor bastard was suffering the fires of hell while his wife was dying by inches.

"Celebration?" asked Phred, a little confused. "What celebration?"

"For when Sara and her mate arrive," answered Lewis. "You know, to ask for your blessing for their union in holy matrimony, yada yada. The standard drill for newly-weds."

Lewis was surprised when the normally non-violent Doc Palmer grabbed him by the shirt front and dragged him into an empty office. "Sara is coming here?" he hissed. Phred had not watched any of the take since his interview with Zhong. Instead, he had been studying the RDA finance manual, and trying to figure out how to fool the choker monitor to think that she was dead in some kind of accident.

"Steady on, Doc," said Lewis. "People will think we're an item. I've got a reputation, you know."

"Fuck that," said Phred savagely, still holding on to Lewis' shirtfront. "When is this happening?"

"Two-three days," he answered, wondering why Doc Palmer had his knickers in a twist, more than a little surprised that he had sworn. Everyone on the base thought he suffered from a severe case of broomstick up his ass, but it seemed that under stress all the prim and proper behaviour just slipped away, leaving him more or less a normal guy.

Phred released Lewis, and half-turned away. "We have to stop her."

"Why?" asked Lewis, reasonably enough.

"RDA Central wants to ship her back to Earth and vivisect her," replied Phred in despair. "Zhong told me two days ago. If she comes here she'll be boxed up into cryo and shipped as soon as the _Evening Star_ reaches Pandoran orbit."

"Fucking Mandarin!" swore Lewis. "What a prick!"

Phred interrupted what was about to become a stream of obscenity. "It's not Zhong," he said. "The bastard suggested we fake her death, and write her off the asset books as a field loss."

"You mean using a form DD1840R?" asked Lewis. He whistled softly between his teeth. "Zhong knows his stuff." He paused briefly, as though in thought, before he asked angrily, "Why the fuck didn't you come and ask us to handle it? We can fix everything."

Phred admitted, "I didn't know who to trust."

"Fuck," swore Lewis, a little unnecessarily. "Look Doc, you go and visit your wife. The Corps will make sure nothing untoward happens. It's what we do."

* * *

Tsawlontu touched his forehead gingerly. It was quite sore under the resin dressing.

"Stop that," ordered Sara with a smile, for the fifth time. Not that she was counting. "You'll make it start bleeding again."

"Why was it so important for you to share Uniluke with Sylwanin yesterday?" asked Tsawlontu. He wanted to know why his head was still throbbing. It might make the discomfort he was experiencing worthwhile.

"Why are you asking me this?" said Sara, answering a question with a question. "You are the one who was born Na'vi, not me."

He replied, "Uniluke is a women's rite. There are many rumours of what it entails, but none of the young men really know why it is so important. The older men, the men with mates, they all refuse to say what they know. They say it is secret women's business, and none of our concern." He sighed. "The penalty for trying to watch Uniluke is expulsion from the clan. All I know is that it is shared between sisters of a tsumuke'awsiteng."

Sara sighed. "If I tell you, then you must keep it a secret, until you pass into the arms of Eywa."

"I swear," affirmed Tsawlontu. He just had to know, no matter the consequences.

Sara looked steadily into the eyes of her life-mate. She could not really read his expression, but during tsahaylu she had felt the essential goodness of his character. "Very well," she said. "Sylwanin has told me there are three reasons. The first is Uniluke prevents the bearing of children – this is why Eywa gave this ceremony to women. If mated women did not undergo Uniluke twice every month, then we would always be bearing children, and the forest of Eywa would disappear under the hordes of Na'vi. Uniluke enables women to choose when children are to be brought forth."

Tsawlontu frowned. "This is a good thing, then." Even he knew that it was important to balance the numbers of all creatures within the forests of Eywa, otherwise they would sicken and die.

"Srane," agreed Sara. "The second reason is to enable unmated women to control the female spirits in their blood, so that they may choose a mate wisely, instead of rushing to mate with the first available male."

"This, too, is a good thing," mused Tsawlontu. Mating was for life, and it would not be right for a woman to rush into mating with the wrong man.

Sara laughed at his serious expression, commenting, "I cannot say that it worked particularly well in my case. You were the first male to pursue me, and I did not exactly choose you."

If Tsawlontu had been a pale tawtute, he would have blushed bright red down to his waist. As it was, his face darkened, and he apologised, "I am sorry, my love. Do you wish another for a mate?"

"I'll think about it," she said. "But you will do for the moment."

"Hey!" he objected, until he saw Sara was grinning at him. He muttered something inconsequential under his breath, until he said, "Go on. I wish to know more."

"The third reason," said Sara, "Is to bond the sisters of a tsumuke'awsiteng together with ties of love and affection that will not break. The sisters of a circle are of much of an age, and support each other through the responsibilities of child-rearing. Without these bonds, life would be much harder for women, and for the clan."

Tsawlontu looked thoughtful. He remembered the women of his mother's tsumuke'awsiteng, of how they bonded together when she was deserted by his father. Without their support, her life, and that of Tsawlontu and his brother Mìnkxetse, would have been much harder. Even now, so many years after her death, he still made gifts to the three surviving sisters on special feast days, to acknowledge his debt. "This also is a good thing," he said finally.

"I am glad you agree," smiled Sara.

There were several seconds silence until Tsawlontu asked, "But Kalinkey, what does Uniluke involve? What do you do that takes all night?"

"Secret women's business," retorted Sara. She well knew it was a rule to keep the content of Uniluke a secret from men - not a custom.

"Arrrgh!" cried Tsawlontu in frustration.

"I am told there is a fourth reason for this gift from Eywa," said Sara. "But it is a reason that is almost never discussed."

"Oh?" queried Tsawlontu. Now this might be really interesting.

"It is to give males a night off from the incessant demands of their mates for affection," teased Sara. "Now, are you going to put your thing back inside me, and show me how much you love me? I think I have rested enough."

Wondering how any male could ever become tired of the joy of mating, Tsawlontu fell to satisfying the request of his life-mate to demonstrate his regard for her. It was only the third time today that she had demanded this of him, even though it was not yet noon. At this rate, it would take over a week to reach the tawtute place, not two or three days. He felt the dappled sunlight warming his back, and smiled.

* * *

Lewis, Vitello and Paklowski were gathered around a planning table in the stores warehouse, swept clear of its normal clutter.

"We have a number of problems," said Lewis. "We have to come up with a viable scenario for our maskirovka that will explain shutdown of the link, yet will still allow Sara to survive. There wasn't enough room in the necklace for a transponder, so it will be almost impossible to localise Sara's position. Finding her will be an absolute bitch. We can't contact Sara, because any conversation we have with her will be recorded, so she will be in total ignorance of any plan. Finally, we will need transport, and that means both a chopper, and a pilot that won't talk."

"Fuck," said Vitello. "Airedales suffer from verbal diarrhoea. That last one is impossible. All the others are just difficult."

"I believe I can solve that little problem," said a voice from the shadows. Administrator Zhong stepped into the light, wearing a flight suit and carrying a pilot's helmet under his left arm. "Allow me to introduce myself. Colonel Zhong, formerly commanding officer of the 23rd Attack Helicopter Regiment of the People's Liberation Army Air Force. I believe I need some airtime to maintain currency on the Aerospatiale SA-2 Samson utility chopper, and am fortunately in the position of being able to authorise training missions for that purpose."

"Sir!" shouted all three of the Marines, leaping to attention, snapping out parade ground salutes.

"At ease, gentlemen and lady," he said quietly, sketching out a return salute with his right arm. "I believe that completes the formalities. Continue with your planning session, and consider me as an observer. However, you should be aware that the Administrator will disavow any knowledge of your activities."

"I understand, sir," said Lewis respectfully, and the other two Marines nodded in agreement.

Paklowski said, "We have two EM Pulse Rifles on our TOE. One shot will zorch the necklace transmitter into slag. The weapon will even fit on the standard Samson door gun mount."

"What the fuck are we doing with those on our TOE?" asked Vitello. "The only people with any electronics on Pandora are us."

"The same reason as a full company set of arctic camo is in bay E-12," shrugged Paklowski. "Who can account for the great minds in Logistics and Planning?"

Lewis frowned. "Do we have anyone qualified to use one? I've heard they are absolute bitches to program and fire."

"Boys, this is your lucky day," answered Paklowski. "The field testing team for the EM Pulse Rifle was my first assignment out of boot. I'm fully qualified to perform field maintenance and fire the damn balky things."

"I love it when you talk dirty," said Vitello with a smile.

Zhong asked, "Is the weapon cleared for our model of the SA-2? I understand that the electronic backlash of the weapon is substantial." His unexpected words produced a sudden silence. None of the soldiers found the prospect of being in a chopper falling out of the sky to be particularly attractive.

"No, sir," admitted Paklowski eventually. She swallowed nervously before continuing. "There is some danger that firing the weapon may disable some systems, although the additional EM shielding fitted to handle the magnetic flux endemic on Pandora should provide some protection against that eventuality."

"You may only get one shot before we ditch, then," said Zhong coolly. "Make it count."

"What about using intercept gear to localise Sara?" asked Vitello.

"Won't work," said Lewis, shaking his head. "I've checked the specs for the necklace. The transmitter/receiver set is based on the latest frequency agile military gear – the designer adapted a prototype unit developed for the RQ-51D Mosquito surveillance drone. Nothing we have will even fucking detect it, let alone develop a vector and range."

"Fuck!" whispered Vitello and Paklowski in chorus. If that was the case, there was no way they could even find Sara in the immensity of the Pandoran forest.

"May I offer a potential solution," said Zhong. It was clear that he was making a statement, not a question. "I would suggest that indigenous personnel would have the best chance of finding Sara, and formulating a suitable maskirovka."

* * *

"Hello, gorgeous," said Phred, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

Lissa stirred and opened her eyes. "Hi, handsome," she murmured, and smiled.

The last month had extracted a terrible toll on his beautiful wife. She had lost all her body hair, much of her muscle mass had wasted away, and it seemed every vein in her body was visible under her translucent skin. She looked as though the slightest breeze would carry her off.

"How is our daughter doing?" she asked.

"It seems that we have a son-in-law," answered Phred.

"Tsawlontu?" she asked.

He nodded.

"How is Sylwanin taking it?" she asked curiously.

"It seems Na'vi relationships are a lot more complex that we thought," answered Phred.

"Why am I not surprised," commented Lissa. She slowly shuffled up the bed, rearranging herself to a more upright position, while Phred adjusted her pillows. A monitor started bleeping – it appeared she had disturbed one of the many sensors or IV feeds attached to her body.

They waited while a nurse rushed over and reconnected some leads, scolding Lissa gently for disturbing them. They waited for him to leave before recommencing their conversation.

"There is something you're not telling me," said Lissa.

Phred sighed. His wife might be dying - his chest tightened with the thought of losing her –but there was nothing wrong with her mind. He sketched out what he had learnt over the last two days, while she listened intently.

"Lewis and Zhong will sort it out," she said confidently. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

"I hope so," replied Phred. He did not share her confidence, but then she had always teased him about being a glass half-empty kind of guy.

Lissa shivered briefly, and hauled the light coverlet further up her body. "It's cold in here," she complained.

It wasn't, thought Phred. It was a steady twenty-three degrees Celsius and humidity was set at a comfortable fifty percent. "I'll mention it to the nurse," assured Phred.

His wife nodded. "It's almost time," she said calmly.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he said, "I know." There was no point in denying the obvious.

"Mo'at made me an interesting offer," said Lissa. "I intend taking it up, before it is too late."

Lissa had mentioned this once before. He had not liked it, and at the time had said so. Now, however...

She saw his lips tighten, the way they always did when he didn't like something but could not deny it, "It's what I want," Lissa said. "One last great adventure."

"Oh, Liss!" he cried, tears finally trickling down his face. "I don't want you to go."

Lissa wrapped her thin arms around him, clasping her husband to her body while he wept, and remembered what Mo'at had told her about the gift of Eywa.

* * *

"Hell's Gate tower, this is Samson Zero-Eight," came the voice over the controller's headphones. "Requesting clearance for take-off."

"Zero-Eight, I do not have a filed flight plan for you," replied the controller. "Who is the pilot?"

"Administrator Zhong," replied the pilot. "Training mission."

"Of course, sir," said the controller. He turned to his mate, placed a hand over his headset mike and asked, "It's Zhong. What the fuck do I do? I can't find his docket."

The other controller went white and answered, "He must have an approved flight plan. You know what the prick is like. Clear him."

"Zero-Eight, you are cleared for take-off," advised the controller, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He turned back to his colleague and said, "He must have a flight plan, mustn't he?"

"Of course," said the other controller, furiously scrolling through today's flight plans. "It must be here somewhere."

"Thank you, tower," said Zhong calmly. "Zero-Eight, taking off."

The Samson lifted off smoothly, as though a veteran pilot was at the controls, and skimmed over the perimeter fence.


	24. Chapter 24

Samson Zero-Eight flared as though it was about to land, though Lewis was out the door when it was still ten feet from the ground. He hit the ground and rolled, ending up on his feet. Chopper exits hurt a lot less in 0.8g, he thought, while he heard the chopper engines roar behind him and gain speed, as the Samson accelerated smoothly back into the sky. It was as neat a drop as he had ever seen done. You could say what you liked about Zhong's qualities as a person, but he was one hell of a pilot.

The marine strode up the pathway to Hometree, his assault rifle held loosely in both hands, until he was stopped by a warrior. "Where do you go without leave, _tawtute_?" snarled the huge male.

Lewis looked up at the towering warrior, and answered in fluent Na'vi, "I seek Sylwanin te Tskaha Mo'at'ite. There is a matter of great import, a matter of life and death that requires words with her. I would appreciate it if you bring her to this place."

"Why should I do that?" demanded the warrior, his chest swelling in challenge against this insignificant worm.

The Marine shook his head sadly and sighed, recognising the Na'vi as one of Tsawlontu's erstwhile friends. Why did he always get involved in pissing contests, and why the fuck were the bastards always so much bigger than he was? "Because, Änsìt," he replied, "You will be in a world of pain if you don't."

The Na'vi snarled and swung back his bow to strike the puny human, but Lewis darted in under his guard, and slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of Änsìt's knee. Änsìt gave a peculiarly ululating scream as he crashed to the ground, the unexpected fall expelling all the air from his lungs. As he took in a breath, Änsìt froze. The tawtute was standing over him, pointing what had to be one of their strange weapons directly at his face. The weapon gave an ominous click, and somehow the Na'vi knew he was in danger of losing his life.

"I do not have time for this stupidity," growled Lewis.

"Enough!" cried out a penetrating female voice.

Lewis instantly recognised the speaker – he had heard and seen the Tsahik often enough on the mess-hall monitor during the Adventures of Sara the Smurf. He took a step back from the fallen Na'vi, lowered his weapon and safed it, before turning to greet the Tsahik. "Oel ngati kameie, Mo'at," he said, making the Na'vi gesture of greeting. "I apologise for this unseemly behaviour."

"I See you, warrior," replied the Tsahik. "What are you called, and what is your purpose in coming to this place?" She ignored the fallen Änsìt, only now stumbling back to his feet.

"My name is Lewis," he announced. "I seek the assistance of the Omaticaya in saving the life of my friend Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite."

"Speak further," commanded Mo'at, as members of the clan started to gather about alien being in their midst.

"My friend, the one you name Kalinkey, journeys to Hell's Gate, the tawtute place," said Lewis, "To seek the blessing of her parents for her choice of life mate. If she arrives there, she will be taken from this world, and will die. Her friends amongst the tawtute do not wish this fate to befall her."

Mo'at's eyes narrowed. "Why should the Omaticaya trust you?"

Lewis' shoulders slumped. "There is no reason," he admitted. They were going to fail, and Sara the Smurf would die before her time.

The Tsahik nodded slowly, as though in understanding. "Sylwanin, ma'ite," she called out.

Sylwanin stepped out from the crowd. "Srane, ma'sa'nok."

"Go with this warrior, and do his bidding," she commanded. "Your sister Kalinkey needs your assistance."

"How...why?" asked Lewis.

Mo'at tilted her head and considered the tawtute warrior at length before she gave her answer. "You told the truth." She turned towards the limping Änsìt and snapped, "Go to the olo'eyktan. He will discuss with you the ways of courtesy at his leisure."

The young warrior glared at the tawtute as he limped by, his face filled with hate. Lewis pitied Änsìt for a moment – he suspected that he was to be presented to the Na'vi version of Captain's Mast, a pleasure that Lewis had endured from time to time, and would have cheerfully foregone. It had, however, been a cure for being young and stupid, even if it had taken some years to take effect.

"Irayo, for your understanding," said Lewis, once the young Na'vi male had gone.

"Änsìt is young and stupid," replied Mo'at, reflecting Lewis' own thought. "He will grow out of it." An uncomfortable silence commenced, only broken by Mo'at saying, "You had best go."

Lewis touched his throat mike to say in English, "Zhong, time to exfiltrate." The crowd of Na'vi separated, leaving a path back down to the LZ they had used. He jogged down, followed wordlessly by Sylwanin.

When the Samson settled to the ground, he leapt lightly aboard, and turned to offer Sylwanin his hand. After a slight hesitation she took his hand and hauled herself into the cargo area, squeezing into the chopper between Vitello and Lewis. "Grab hold," yelled Lewis over the roar of the turbines and blades, as the chopper lifted off. "We don't want to lose you."

The Na'vi woman suddenly grinned back at Lewis' reassuring smile, and took hold of one of the stanchions. She had no wish to fall out of this strange machine either.

* * *

Sylwanin tried to adjust the headphones over her sensitive ears. They were not comfortable, but reduced the noise of the tawtute flying machine. Lewis had put them on her, and showed how to adjust them to make the voices of the tawtute louder or softer, and told her the names of the other two tawtute with them, as well as the one who piloted this kunsìp.

Lewis explained what had to be done, and made a gesture towards what he called a data tablet mounted on the front wall of the compartment. "That is what Sara is seeing right now."

Sylwanin gasped as she saw a part of the forest within the tablet. The scene shifted, as the viewpoint changed to glance at Tsawlontu. "You have seen everything that Kalinkey has seen?" she demanded.

"Yes," said Paklowski.

Lewis saw the flare of anger in Sylwanin's face, and said softly, "Remember why you are here. I give you my word that we will deal with this other matter to your satisfaction. Now, do you know where she is?"

"Srane," snarled Sylwanin. She was definitely not happy. That these tawtute had seen her make love to Kalinkey, that they had seen the sacrament of Uniluke – it ate at her innards. "Can you talk to her?"

"No," said Paklowski. "There was only bandwidth for transmission, not receiving as well."

"If we go to her, others can also see what I am seeing now?" asked Sylwanin.

"Yes," said Paklowski. "The last thing that the image must show is the reason for Sara appearing to die. If we do not do this correctly, then the deception will not work. It must look real, and we may not be seen, or heard."

"There is only one choice," said Sylwanin. "It may kill both of them."

"What is that?" asked Vitello, who had not spoken before, scanning the skies for predators.

"Stampede," replied Sylwanin.

* * *

Paklowski powered up the EM Pulse rifle, the targeting glasses she was wearing under her exo-pack going dark. Sylwanin had vectored them to the approximate location. Five minutes out Zhong has switched the Samson to stealth mode, the noise dropping dramatically. However, every passenger, even Sylwanin, could feel how sluggishly the chopper was answering the controls. The crisp changes of attitude and direction were transformed into sickening movements wallowing through the air.

"Scanning," said Paklowski, swinging the weapon across the target area. She was using a combination of thermal imaging and movement detection, dialled in for adult Na'vi metabolisms and mass. It had taken her hours to determine the correct parameters and program the targeting system.

Five minutes later she called out, "I have something - a weak source, microwave radiation, encrypted sideband."

Lewis commented, "I thought you were only scanning for thermals and movement."

"I couldn't turn off everything else without fucking up the signal discrimination module," said Paklowski. "What could it be?"

"Fuck!" swore Lewis. "Sara's IFF bracelet - I forgot about it."

"Great going," commented Vitello sarcastically. He was watching a flock of ikranay on the horizon, while Lewis was monitoring the necklace take for any sign of the chopper on the video or audio tracks. Fortunately, there was nothing, not a single sign of their presence.

"I've got them," said Paklowski. "Two adult Na'vi, congruent with the signal source. Mark."

"Target marked," responded Zhong, flicking switches to enter the coordinates into the targeting computer.

Sylwanin looked from one to another. The exchanges had been in English. "What is happening?"

Lewis answered, "We've found them, Sylwanin. All we need now is the location of the talioang herd."

"That way," she said, pointing out the left window past Vitello.

* * *

"Shit, there are a lot of them," said Vitello.

He was right, thought Lewis. There must have been several hundred sturmbeest in the herd, calmly grazing. One or two looked up curiously at the noisy chopper – no longer in stealth mode – as it roared overhead, but returned immediately to grazing.

"You are going to have to frighten them," advised Sylwanin. "The talioang are not very smart."

"Don't worry," said Lewis. "Fear is something tawtute do very well. Zhong, do your stuff."

The Samson swept around in a smooth curve, and headed back on a reciprocal course. Sylwanin gasped in surprise as a ripple of four rockets fired off, striking the ground just short of the edge of the herd across a five hundred metre front, exploding in balls of fire. Immediately, the talioang lumbered into a run, desperate to get away from the unnatural occurrence.

Not for the first time, Lewis thought that Zhong knew his stuff. The sturmbeests were heading in exactly the course they required, across a broad front. He noticed that they started to bunch, forming a denser pack. That would suit their purposes very well.

* * *

"Is that an earthquake?" asked Sara. The ground often trembled on Pandora, a sign of the high level of volcanic activity, fuelled by the tidal forces inflicted on the world by the gas giant polyphemus.

They were crossing an open space, a shallow river running in many strands across sand and rock. There was no cover.

Tsawlontu frowned. The trembling of the Earth was gradually growing stronger and stronger. This was no earthquake. An expression of fear crossed his face.

"What is it, my love?" asked Sara. "You're worrying me."

"Stampede," said Tsawlontu. His head swung back and forth, looking for somewhere they could take shelter – up a tree, behind a rock, in a hollow. There was nothing, no cover at all. "Run!" he shouted, grabbing at her hand. The edge of the forest was too far away, but they had to try.

They ran, slipping and sliding over the loose rock and sand, struggling to make the shelter of the forest, while the roar of the approaching herd grew louder. The ground was shuddering now, and they could hear the trumpeting of the stampeding talioang.

"Down!" shouted Tsawlontu. He grabbed his mate and threw her to the ground, holding her tight, as the ground moved beneath them. They gazed into each other's eyes, and knew that this might be the end.

* * *

"I've got them," announced Paklowski. "Give the word."

Lewis was watching the take from the necklace split with the targeting camera from the chopper. As the edge of the stampeding herd washed over the two prone figures, the only thing he could hear over the thundering hooves was Sara screaming. He swallowed, and said, "Now."

Paklowski's finger squeezed the trigger of her weapon.

* * *

The monitor in the mess-hall suddenly went black.

There were only a scattering of people watching the Adventures of Sara the Smurf, but all their faces were pale. The few glimpses they saw of the stampeding sturmbeest were terrifying, and they all had no doubt what had happened.

"Holy fuck," whispered one soldier. He rushed to a phone and punched up the number for the research labs, and spoke a few brief words down the line. He listened for a moment, nodded once and hung up the phone. "They've lost transmission," he said.

Someone said, "Poor bastards."

One insensitive soul said, "What are we going to watch now?"

The soldier who had hung up the phone snarled, "Shut the fuck up!"

* * *

In the tower, one of the controllers picked up the phone. "Yes, I see," he said. "We'll get on it right away."

"Who was that?" asked another.

"The research lab," answered the first. "It seems that they've lost transmission from Sara the Smurf, and what us to conduct a search. Have we got anyone out that way?"

"Administrator Zhong was headed in that direction," said the second, who had finally found the authorised flight plan. It had come in thirty minutes after he had given clearance to Samson Zero-Eight. There must have been some snafu in the auto-registration system, so he had logged a call to IT to complain.

"Well, punch him up and ask if he can have a squiz," ordered the first.

A few seconds passed, when the second said, "Zero-Eight isn't answering any hails."

"Keep on trying," suggested the first. "The flux is bad out that way, so it's probably just a temporary glitch. Happens all the time."

"Ok," was the laconic response.


	25. Chapter 25

The console in front of Zhong lit up like fireworks on National Day lit up the night sky. As the noise of the turbines died, Zhong swore "Fucking flying turtle."

There was no time to attempt a restart – they didn't have the altitude, nor did he have time to reset all the open circuit breakers that they would need to fly the bird. "Brace, brace, brace," he called out. It was time to try and autorotate this turtle down to the ground in what was laughingly called in the flight manual a controlled unpowered descent. At least the Samson had hydraulic backup flight controls, and wasn't reliant on fly-by-wire, otherwise they were really fucked.

Zhong manipulated the suddenly heavy collective, cyclic and pedals – no power assist any more – to slow the chopper's descent, converting the forward momentum into rotation, while he tried to find a spot of ground that wasn't occupied by stampeding sturmbeest.

The scenery blurred as the chopper suddenly spiralled downwards. As Zhong called out, Paklowski lost her grip on the EM Pulse Rifle and screamed. Vitello turned at the unexpected cry and yelled, "Linda!" His heart leapt into his mouth as she slipped out of view, falling out of the chopper, only to be blocked by the sight of Sylwanin lunging out of the door, impossibly fast. The Na'vi female grunted, one hand gripping the door frame, while the other one hauled Paklowski back into the chopper by her right ankle.

No-one was given any time to congratulate Sylwanin on her action. The Samson did not make a smooth landing – instead it smashed into the ground in the hardest landing any of the Sec-ops troopers had ever experienced, knocking those still standing off their feet. The chopper ground its landing skids into the ground and slid, raising a huge dust cloud. Somehow, no-one else fell out of the chopper, more through luck than good management.

Zhong called out, "Is everyone alive?"

The dust settled as each of the troopers called out their name, except for Vitello. He screamed, "FUCK!"

The dust had cleared slightly, and he saw the most terrifying sight he had seen in all his life. An adult sturmbeest trailing the main herd was charging directly for the chopper. The dumb animal had apparently correctly identified the chopper as the originator of the herds torment, and was moving to eliminate the danger to the herd.

Vitello sprang to his feet, forgetting his bruises, grabbed the door gun and aimed the tribarrel at the charging beast. When he squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. "Fuck!" he yelled again. The impact of the landing had created some kind of stoppage. A sudden picture popped into his head of his firearms instructor from boot, telling him no matter what, when clearing any stoppage, take your time and run through each step of the procedure. As Lewis was yelling at him to shoot the charging behemoth, Vitello cleared the weapon, ejecting the rounds up the spout and pulling back the cocking lever.

He breathed out and remembered the one time Sara the Smurf went on a sturmbeest hunt, of how she saw a hunter kill a charging sturmbeest with a single arrow. He took aim and squeezed the trigger. The point five inch depleted uranium rounds – the design based on the ancient point five BMG round first used over two centuries before – fired at a rate of one hundred rounds a second, the sound of the weapon firing like the tearing of cloth.

His aim was true – at least forty of the rounds he fired in the first second were on target penetrated the sturmbeest through its left breathing spiracle, vaporising a lung and the immense heart that powered the huge beast. It smashed into the ground, the immense body sliding until it stopped, touching the chopper and making it rock gently from side to side. Vitello took a shuddering breath, and said shakily, "Vitello, ok."

Sylwanin was impressed by the steadiness that the tawtute warrior had shown. It took great courage for a hunter to stand in front of a charging talioang, and without flinching calmly target the fearsome beast and make his kill. She recognised that Vitello could have abandoned the chopper and ran, but that would have likely ended in the death of his comrades – and possibly herself. It was also interesting to see the effects of the tawtute weapon. It had blown a great crater into the beast, penetrating deep into its body. The stories of the watchers were right – the weapons of the tawtute were indeed fearsome. It would be interesting to see how the weapon would perform against an 'angitsa – a hammerhead.

She clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Sìltsan tspang." A good kill indeed.

"Fucking A!" said Paklowski, proud of her man.

"Paklowski, Vitello, stay with the chopper," said Lewis. "I'll take Sylwanin and look for Sara."

* * *

Sara shut her eyes and clutched at Tsawlontu, as the world dissolved into a confusion of dust noise and vibration, the roaring of the talioang and thundering of their hooves filling their minds. She did not even notice the bracelet on her wrist and her necklace growing hot and blistering her skin.

After the noise died, the two Na'vi did not move for a time, until Sara asked, "Are we still alive?" She slowly opened her eyes to see her mate grinning at her.

"I think we are," answered Tsawlontu, and kissed her.

That was how Sylwanin and Lewis found them. "Hey Sara, get a room," said Lewis drily.

She jumped at the unexpected sound of English in this place. Her face coloured and she leapt to her feet. "Hi, Lewis," she replied in the same language. To her pleased surprise, she observed Sylwanin standing alongside her human friend, and she added happily in Na'vi, "I See you, my sister. What do you do here, in this place, with my friend Lewis?"

"I think it is best for Lu'iss to explain," replied Sylwanin.

* * *

Tsawlontu growled threateningly, "You made this stampede." He glared at Lewis, fingering the hilt of his knife as though he wished to use it. "Knowing we were here."

"It was do this, or take Sara from you when you arrived at Hell's Gate," replied Lewis calmly. Not another pissing contest.

"I would like to see you try," snarled Tsawlontu.

"You could not have stopped us," replied Lewis calmly, regretting the words as soon as he said them. He had a gift for aggravating any situation, it seemed.

As Tsawlontu's fingers tightened around his knife hilt, Sylwanin snapped, "Lu'iss is right. I have seen the power of the tawtute weapons, Tsawlontu. You would be dead if you tried to stop them."

"But why?" he asked. "Why not tell the tawtute that Kalinkey is gone?"

Sylwanin replied, "The tawtute can see everything that she says, through the magic of her necklace. The ones who watched had to see Kalinkey die."

Lewis nodded. "We are a very persistent people," he said. "If we knew that Sara - I mean Kalinkey – was still alive, the tawtute would not rest until she was in their custody."

"I do not like this," frowned Sara. "It is not truth." She felt the wrongness of the lie that was about to be made, of it crossing against her rules.

Lewis laughed, and drew his knife. "I need your necklace and bracelet, and some of your blood." Sara bent down and allowed him to cut the two ornaments from her. Lewis said, "If I am asked, I will say that I cut the necklace from your body. I will say that they were soaked in your blood, and that your life-mate Tsawlontu took your body back to Hometree, so that you could be one with Eywa."

Sara looked at him and said wonderingly, "If I give you my blood, then this will be truth, and I may stay with the Omaticaya always."

"Yes," agreed Lewis. "If the tawtute leaders choose not to question what they are told, that will be the case. It is telling the truth in a way that it means that we want it to mean, not what actually happened." He picked up two rocks, and crushed the tawtute stone between them. It split in two, and something small and glittering fell from its interior.

Sara nodded, and used her own knife to cut her arm, allowing her blood to drip onto the necklace, until the soft material of the choker was soaked. When Lewis gave her the bracelet to do the same, she closed her fingers around it and said, "No. You gave me this, and though I know I may not wear it again, I would keep this as a keepsake of your friendship."

Lewis looked a little embarrassed, but after a slight hesitation he nodded in agreement.

"I may not see Lissa and Phred again, if I am to be dead to the tawtute," said Sara. The realisation of her position was penetrating her mind, opening up the ache in her heart that had begun when she had learned that Lissa was dying.

"We'll see," said Lewis cryptically.

* * *

Paklowski had unlimbered the EM Pulse Rifle and replaced it with an M60 machine gun. It took several attempts to get it to lock into the door gun mount due to the shaking of her hands. "I thought I was dead," she said. "If it hadn't been for Sylwanin..."

"I thought we all were," replied Vitello. He switched his comm unit to vox and asked, "Excuse me sir, is this bird going to fly again?"

Zhong had been working his way steadily through a checklist, resetting circuit breakers and testing the related systems. "I'll know in about five minutes, Vitello," replied Zhong calmly, as though they were sitting on the tarmac back at Hell's Gate running through pre-flight checks. "At the moment, I would say it is highly probable but not certain."

He was interrupted by some com-chatter, as he had just tested the comms system and put it back on light. "...Zero Eight. This is Hell's Gate Tower, calling Samson Zero-Eight. Please respond."

"Hell's Gate Tower, this is Zero-Eight," replied Zhong. "Over."

"Where have you been, Zero-Eight?" asked the controller. "I've been trying to raise you for the last ten minutes."

"There was an electrical surge, Tower," replied Zhong. "It knocked out virtually every system. I had to put the bird down hard, and I'm just getting it back on-line."

"Will you need rescue?" asked the controller anxiously, even though it would take an hour or so to get another bird to Zero-Eight. He did not fancy telling RDA senior management that he had not done everything in his power to recover Administrator Zhong.

"Negative," replied Zhong. "I expect we will back in the air in a few minutes, although I think the Samson will require a complete overhaul. The landing was very hard."

"What caused the problem?" asked the controller.

While Zhong normally appreciated underlings who were dedicated and persistent in their duties, at this very moment he wished the controller was a little less efficient. "I expect it was some freak electromagnetic condition," he replied. "Pandora is a very strange place."

"You've got that right, sir," replied the controller.

* * *

"I prefer flying my ikran," commented Tsawlontu, as he stood with Sara and Sylwanin at the LZ below Kelutrel, following the chopper's departure with their eyes. The ride back to the familiar surrounds of his birthplace had been disconcerting. "One can hear oneself think, and feel the rushing of air on one's skin."

"Srane," agreed Sylwanin. "It is not right for dead things to fly."

It was with mixed feelings that Sara watched the chopper leave. She could no longer seek out human contact. Instead, she must be dead to the tawtute, and only be Na'vi. Although this had been the most likely outcome of the plan she had made in the forest under the dome, Sara had not expected to be in this position quite so soon. A feeling of dislocation, of uncertainty surrounded her heart.

Sylwanin glanced at her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, observing the restless movement of Sara's tail and the searching expression on her face. "It will be well, Kalinkey, my sister," she said reassuringly, correctly interpreting Sara's disquiet. "This is your home now, with the Omaticaya. It is time to let go."

Sara smiled wistfully at her lover, and at her life-mate. "I miss Lissa, my mother, and my foster father Phred. Lewis too was my friend."

"I am sure you will meet with them again, someday," replied Tsawlontu. He had been impressed with Lewis, especially after he had inspected the carcass of the talioang that had charged the kunsìp. The hole was large enough to stick one's head into the body of the dead beast.

"I hope so," replied Sara.

* * *

Lewis walked into the research lab, and asked for Doc Palmer. The glum looking research assistant pointed to the office. "Did you find her?" she asked dejectedly.

"Yes," replied Lewis. He did not have to say anything else.

When he entered the untidy office, Phred pointed to the visitor's chair without a word. Lewis shut the door behind him and flopped tiredly into the chair. He dug into his breast pocket and withdrew a clear zip-loc bag. The bloody strap of the choker necklace was the only contents. Without any ado, he tossed it on to the desk.

Phred looked down at the evidence of the maskirovka, and his shoulders slumped. He wondered how he was going to tell Lissa of the events of the past three days. There was no privacy in the hospital.

"You're going to have to fill out a DD1840R," advised Lewis. He was going to miss watching the Adventures of Sara the Smurf. "You know. Loss of a major asset in the field."

"Did it..." started Phred.

"Pretty much as expected," answered Lewis. There was no telling who could be listening, and even though Zhong was apparently on their side, there was no point in saying anything definitive. "There is something else," he mentioned. "Sylwanin was not happy with the thought that we have seen many things, including Uniluke. She said that many of these things are not for aliens to see. I assured her that this could be addressed."

"I see," replied Phred. He swept the document on his monitor he had received from the latest superluminal transmission to a data tablet with a practiced flick of a hand, and passed the tablet to Lewis.

"All mention of permanent personality transfer to Avatars is classified on a need-to-know basis," read Lewis aloud. "All record of the method used to collect data for the Na'vi cultural study is to be suppressed, including all original research materials, and is only to be released with the authorisation of the RDA CEO or Director of Research and Development. What the fuck?"

"It appears that head office do not want anyone to know that permanent personality transfer is possible," explained Phred. "Can't have the labour force becoming restless, you see. So I think we can satisfy Sylwanin's requirement that no-one reveal the content of anything sensitive from a Na'vi perspective. I had already anticipated her request in my report. This is a normal part of standard anthropological protocols."

"But everyone on base knows about Sara the Smurf," objected Lewis. "The whole damn lot of us."

Phred shrugged. "They will be required to sign an additional non-disclosure agreement before the _Evening Star_ makes planetfall. Failure to do so will result in cancellation of their contract, and expulsion from Hell's Gate. Any disclosure after return to Earth will meet with substantial financial penalties."

Lewis frowned. "Transport back to Earth? That doesn't sound too bad."

"That's not what I said," replied Phred.

An expression of horror spread over Lewis' face. The thought of being thrown into the Pandoran forest – presumably without minimal survival gear – well, it was a death sentence, pure and simple. "These guys don't fuck around," he said grimly.

"No, they don't," replied Phred.


	26. Chapter 26

"Hello, Doctor Palmer," said the tall auburn-haired woman.

Phred looked up from clearing his desk. "You must be Doctor Augustine," he said. The _ISV Evening Star _had made orbit this morning. Phred straightened and offered her his hand, but did not smile.

"Please, call me Grace," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm looking forward to discussing your findings with you and your wife at length."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Grace," he replied abruptly.

"Why not?" she asked sharply.

The grey-faced researcher shut his eyes, as though in pain, and answered, "Lissa died three days ago."

* * *

Zhong flew the chopper to the sacred place, the place that the Omaticaya called Vitraya Ramunong – the Tree of Souls. He had refused to allow any other pilot to take this job. Paklowski and Vitello were the door gunners, while Lewis came long for the ride – there was a spare seat in the cockpit, after all, he said, but that was only an excuse. He had helped Phred carry Lissa into the chopper, and made sure her oxygen and IV feeds were stowed correctly, and that she was comfortable in her seat.

Phred did not look out the cockpit windows at all. Instead, his focus was on Lissa, who spent much of the flight dozing. Her delicate skin was a mass of bruises, stretched tight over her bones. She roused when they approached the floating mountains, backlit by the setting sun, her tired eyes over-bright.

"They are beautiful," she said softly.

"Not as beautiful as you," replied Phred, meaning every word, taking her skeletal hand in his.

"Flatterer," smiled Lissa.

The flight was uneventful, Zhong taking care to make it as smooth as possible for the dying woman. The landing was so perfect Phred did not even feel the skids touch the ground. Sara and Mo'at were there at the LZ, waiting patiently for Phred and Lewis to lift the frail woman out of the Samson cockpit.

They sat her on the edge of the cargo hold door, looking impossibly frail, more like a ghost made corporeal than a living person, while they removed the oxygen cylinder and IV feed from the cockpit – the only things still keeping Lissa alive.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma'ite," said Lissa to her daughter, sketching out the gesture of greeting.

A tear trickled down Sara's cheek. She could hardly recognise this woman as her foster mother. "Oel ngati kameie, ma'sa'nok," she replied.

"Do not cry, Sara," said Lissa. "I am not sad, but happy – happy to see my daughter's sweet face."

"But you are leaving," said Sara, wiping the tear from her face.

Lissa replied, "I am tired of being sick. It is time to go, and so I am happy to leave."

Sara nodded slowly. "If you would carry my mother, Phred, I will carry the other things," she said.

Phred had been dreading this - he had feared that he would have to fight with Sara to be allowed to carry his wife on her last journey. He slid his hands under her thighs and back, and easily lifted her. Lissa could not mass more than thirty kilos now, which was easily within the ability of an unfit scientist to lift. He followed Mo'at, picking his way carefully over the uneven ground, between the silence of the massed Omaticaya.

He did not look behind him, but knew that Zhong and the Sec-ops troopers did not come into the depression of the Tree of Souls. Instead, they waited respectfully at the rim, so they would not interfere.

There was a platform beneath the huge willow in the centre of the depression. Mo'at spoke her first words. "Put her in this place," she advised Phred.

He nodded.

Mo'at added, "She must leave this world as she entered it."

"I think that means you have to take my clothes off, Phred," said Lissa. "You like doing that."

Phred could not help himself. He laughed at the wicked gleam in his wife's eyes, who chuckled with him, as he undid the ties of her hospital gown.

It was good, thought the Tsahik, that this man could laugh with his dying life-mate. It spoke of love and honour, things that she knew were ingrained in Kalinkey's soul, but it was good to see them in the body of a tawtute. The tawtute woman had been right when she had told Mo'at of her wasting disease. Mo'at had never seen a Na'vi who had suffered similarly.

Phred and Lissa knelt by Lissa, each taking one of her hands. as the Omaticaya started chanting. Somehow what they did awoke the tree, glowing transparent roots – no, tendrils was a better word – moving, wrapping around Lissa, penetrating her skin. She gasped briefly, but not with pain, her eyes growing wide. Lissa exclaimed, "If you could See, Phred. She is so beautiful." She turned her head to see her daughter, and said, "You are so lucky, my Sara."

Lissa took three more breaths, and did not breathe again, her eyes growing dull. Unseen by Sara and Phred, Mo'at held up her hand to stop the chanting, while Sara undid Lissa's mask to close her eyes with a gentle touch. "She is with Eywa now," said Sara.

"I hope so," said Phred. He slipped off his exo-pack mask to kiss his dead wife on her forehead, and removed the dogtags from around her neck – what the Marines crudely called DMTs, or dead meat tickets – before he replaced the mask on his face. It struck him then that Sara had never been issued with dogtags. She had never been truly considered as a person by the RDA.

"We have prepared a place where her body may rest within the body of Eywa," said Mo'at. "If you would come..."

Phred interrupted, shaking his head, "No. I...cannot. The thought of the earth covering her..."

He really didn't remember anything after that, until he was back in the chopper and in the air. No-one said a word to him all the way back to hell's Gate. They did not need to.

* * *

"How?" asked Grace.

"Cancer," replied Phred. He picked up an old-fashioned book, a thick and heavy volume, and gave it to Grace. It was titled 'The Na'vi'. Grace opened the covers to smell the unmistakeable scent of a new book, something she had experienced only once or twice in her life. "The stereolithography plant printed off a few of these for me," he said. "Lissa insisted that you should have a copy. It was the least we could do."

Grace turned the pages, until she stopped on the dedication page. It said simply, 'For Lissa and Sara'. She said, "I'm sorry." Those words felt terribly inadequate and awkward, but it was the conventional thing to say. Grace could think of nothing better. She did not want to intrude on the poor man's grief, so she said, "If I could talk to the Avatar driver..."

The expression on Phred's face grew even bleaker, if that was possible. "She's gone too. Just under four weeks ago."

She swore under her breath. Could she do nothing but put her foot in her mouth? She had heard a rumour that the Palmers had adopted the girl who had become the first Avatar driver as their daughter.

"I have to apologise to you," said Phred. "I'm taking the first shuttle flight into orbit, and going straight into cryo for the trip back to Earth. Orders from RDA Central." He glanced at his watch and said, "I'll be leaving in ninety minutes. My research assistants will be going too, so I am afraid you will be pretty much on your own."

"What!" exploded Grace, unable to restrain herself any longer. How the hell was she supposed to do her work, without any support from the first Avatar team?

"I think you will find the new link room satisfactory," said Phred without any change of expression. "A training area and longhouse has been set up within the perimeter for use by the Avatars. Oh, and one of the Marines is being assigned to you as a language instructor. His name is Lewis. I think you will find him very helpful, and his Na'vi is very fluent – it's considerably better than mine."

Grace Augustine was struck dumb. Had she been set up to fail? Only time would tell.

* * *

Sara stood in the grove of the Tree of Voices, communing with the spirits within Eywa. She sent a questing thought, and was relieved to hear within her mind the sound of a familiar voice – speaking words of joy and greeting and comfort in English.


	27. Chapter 27

Grace was fuming.

It seemed that whichever red-haired ancestor that had bequeathed her a large segment of her genetic code was in full control of her emotions – most specifically her anger. She stormed into the administrator's office and opened her mouth, only for her tirade to be interrupted before it could start.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Augustine," said Zhong smoothly, without looking up from his data tablet. "I've been expecting you to 'drop in' for a day or two now. If you would just give me a couple of minutes, I'll be with you presently." The quotes surrounding the words 'drop in' were quite evident, hanging in the air as an almost visible reproach to Grace's lack of compliance to normal protocol.

She was left with no option but to wait, watching the Chinese bureaucrat shuffle data around with intense concentration while she simmered. After a little while, Grace decided she looked stupid standing in front of his desk, so she sat down in the visitor's chair, determined to out-wait and out-simmer this...bastard.

Eventually, he looked up and asked, "Now, Doctor Augustine. How can I help you? Are you happy with the arrangements that have been made?"

"I most definitely am not," snarled Grace.

Administrator Zhong's brows creased. "I am afraid I do not understand. The link unit facility was completed to schedule, along with the training facilities. Is the language instructor unsatisfactory? I was most careful to select the best possible candidate, although Lewis can be a little combative at times."

Grace shook her head. "No, it is not any of the Avatar project deliverables," she conceded.

"Then what is the problem?" he asked, the barest trace of a smile on his serious face, almost as though he was teasing her.

"It is just that no-one will tell me what happened with the first Avatar," answered Grace. "It is almost as though she never even alive. All the raw footage – even the transcripts and research diaries – of her interaction with the Na'vi have been classified. All I have access to is Doctor Palmer's report and commentaries, including the language database – and that is all. I cannot work with these restrictions."

"As far as you are concerned, Sara never existed," advised Zhong coolly. "It is in your best interests that you forget her name, her very existence. Is there anything else?

"But..."

Zhong could see that Doctor Augustine was a typical gweilo, never able to accept the limits of a particular situation if not to her liking. Doctor Palmer had suffered from this also, but even he learnt to manage within boundaries. At least Zhong would not have to go to the bother of training this one – that was the problem of his successor.

"Doctor Augustine," said Zhong sternly. "There are a number of commercial reasons for the classification of this data, none of which you are cleared to know. However, there is another reason, not associated with our mutual employer, for maintenance of this secrecy. I believe that this takes moral precedence over the commercial concerns of the RDA, as much of the footage is concerned with Na'vi customs and ceremonies which humans, as uninitiated aliens, are forbidden from knowing. I gave my word of honour that this knowledge would not be shared, at the suggestion of Doctor Palmer. Every person that had access to this secret knowledge has likewise given his or her word of honour to do likewise. That is why no-one will speak to you of Sara."

He continued, "Honour is very important to the Na'vi. If humans are seen to be without honour, then despite our technological advantage, I am afraid our presence on Pandora will come to an unfortunate end at the hands of the Na'vi. You are aware they far outnumber us?"

Grace nodded mutely.

"I have already fully briefed my successor on this matter," said Zhong. "The data has been encrypted with a one-time pad, to which I have the only key. Do not think of trying to circumvent this direction. You are no longer an independent scholar, Doctor Augustine. You are an employee of the RDA, and are ultimately subject to the same disciplines as any of the Sec-ops personnel, up to and including the death penalty. Is this clear?"

"Yes, sir," her voice grated out.

"Good," he said. "I am sure that your time on Pandora will be both enjoyable and productive, and wish you the best of luck in your endeavours. Was there anything else?"

"No, sir," she replied.

It seemed her meeting with Zhong was over.

* * *

"Ten-hut!" commanded Lewis.

The neatly ordered lines of the Hell's Gate garrison snapped to attention, their boots slamming into the concrete apron of the airfield. Their drill might have been a little rusty by the standards of some of the ceremonial units that Lewis had seen, but they were good enough for this purpose.

Lewis roared, "Pre-sent arms!"

He spun on his heels and his hand snapped up to salute Administrator Zhong.

"Colonel Zhong," he said. "The garrison request that before your embarkation, you grant us the honour of an inspection, sir!"

Zhong noted that there was no nonsense regarding his title. To these men, he was no longer an administrator, but a soldier. "I would be delighted," he responded, returning the salute, his normally erect posture straightening even more.

Slowly, he walked along the line of soldiers, accompanied by Lewis. Zhong closely inspected their gear, weapons and bearing for faults, but he doubted he would find anything that would reflect poorly on these troops. Boots were polished to mirror brightness, brass was gleaming, and every weapon was immaculate. He stopped in front of Paklowski, who, as the shortest soldier in the garrison was at the far end of the line of soldiery. "If I may?" he asked.

Paklowski immaculately present her CARB assault rifle to Zhong. He cleared the weapon, trying the action – it was perfect – and took aim on the horizon. The sights were immaculately clean, the digital read-out showing range, wind drift and projectile drop. Everything appeared to be in perfect working order.

"Very good, soldier," he said, returning the rifle.

A grin split Paklowski's face – not an approved military expression – but it evoked a matching smile from Zhong.

When he finished inspecting the troops, Zhong returned to face the front rank. His only reaction was to say two words, although any of the soldiers could see the suspicious brightness in his eyes.

"Thank you."

He snapped out a salute, turned to the left, and marched to the waiting shuttle.

* * *

As the parade ranks dissolved, Paklowski and Vitello were ripping off their webbing, and laid their weapons on the ground.

Lewis came over to them and said, "I'm going to miss you guys."

He offered Vitello his right hand, only for his very heterosexual friend to grab him in a bear hug. "Take care," said Vitello.

As soon as her fiancé released Lewis, Paklowski also hugged him, standing on her toes to fling her arms around his neck. If they had not been wearing exo-packs, she would have kissed him. "I'm going to miss every inch of your sneaky hide," she told him.

"Thanks a lot, Linda," he replied drily. It was the first time he had ever called her by her Christian name. "Now scat, or you'll miss your flight. It's a long time to the next one."

"Yeah, all our gear is already on board," said Vitello. "I've heard the baggage return policy of this airline is absolute crap. Come on, Linda."

The two soldiers ran to the shuttle and clattered up the cargo ramp, the last to board., ignoring the scowling loadmaster. They turned to wave at Lewis as the ramp closed, and he waved back.

Less than a minute later, the shuttles engines roared into life, and it lifted smoothly off the ground. Lewis watched it until it disappeared into the cloud layer. He bent down, and slung his friends' gear over both shoulders. If he didn't return it to stores, there would be endless paperwork to fill out.

* * *

Sara stood hand-in-hand with Tsawlontu, looking up into the warm night sky.

"What are we looking for, Kalinkey?" he asked.

"Wait," she said, and gently squeezed his hand.

A few minutes later the night sky was lit up as the _ISV Evening Star_ started its anti-matter drive, great streamers of hot gas kilometres long boosting the starship out of orbit on its five year journey back to Earth. The two Na'vi watched in silence as it accelerated away and dwindled, until a bright point of light like a star disappeared below the horizon.

"Why are you weeping?" asked Tsawlontu.

Sara gave a twisted smile, and somehow suppressed a sob. "It is for Phred," she said, referring to her tears. "Once he had everything, and I nothing. Now it is I who has everything, and Phred nothing." She squeezed his hand again, harder as she said. "It is not fair."

Tsawlontu wrapped his arms around his mate and kissed her on her forehead. He agreed, "No, it is not fair."


	28. Chapter 28

Life with the Omaticaya settled into a simple routine, and Sara was happy. She liked routine – it was just another kind of pattern, except laid out in time rather than one of the three Newtonian spatial dimensions that most people perceived. Of course, there were more than just three dimensions. She had to concentrate very hard to see the other eight – not that seeing was the right word. They were not dimensions you could actually see, but Sara knew they were there. She could feel them, around the corner from where she looked.

Sara liked patterns.

Sometimes the patterns only worked if she thought about the other eight dimensions.

She also liked making love. A lot.

It was strange. When she had lived in the pale green room where the orderlies were, she hated people touching her. It made her skin crawl, and her head hurt. Now, however, when Sylwanin or Tsawlontu touched her, her skin tingled. Not only that – her blood ran hot.

The only thing better than making love, was making love when she was united in tsahaylu. The only thing that made her sad was the rule that one could only unite in tsahaylu with one's life mate. She wanted to bond even closer to Sylwanin, but that would mean that she broke a rule. Then again, Tsawlontu could never experience the savage delirium that was Uniluke. He was a male after all – she had plenty of evidence for that – and a male would die a terrible death if one attempted to partake of Uniluke.

Perhaps this was another pattern, a balanced pattern. Tsahaylu with Tsawlontu as opposed to Uniluke with Sylwanin.

It was always good to have patterns that balanced.

That was why she liked working as a healer, restoring the balance of health to the sick and injured.

It was when a pattern didn't balance that her head started to hurt. When that happened, she became irritable, and almost anything could rub her the wrong way. The way Tsawlontu whistled tunelessly through his teeth when he was working on his hunting gear – the lack of melody and harmony and rhythm made her feel physically ill – that was a sure way to get her to explode. She would scream at him to go away, and grab the nearest object to throw at him.

There were other things that made Sara act like this with Tsawlontu. He would try to apologise, and get close, but the shattering patterns made it impossible for Sara to be near him.

Sara hated doing this. She loved Tsawlontu dearly, but sometimes his chaotic influence forced her to send him away. She had tried to explain to him, but all that happened was that a hurt expression appeared on his face, creating more broken patterns.

There was one thing she had found that eased her distress when she fought with Tsawlontu. There was a cave, not far from Kelutrel. It was large, and airy, and dry, and well-lit for a cave, unlike most of the other caves around the village of the Omaticaya. She would go there, with paints she had made, and think about numbers. Sometimes when she was sitting in her cave, Sara would do nothing, but other times her time was spent in a frenzy of writing, of describing in mathematics what she felt inside her head.

Sylwanin followed Sara to the cave once, one evening, without her knowing, and hid in the shadows of the cave near the entrance. The noise of the discordant patterns inside Sara's head made her almost oblivious to her surroundings. Sara had gathered many different colours of ochres and dyes, storing them in pottery jars in the cave, so she could mix the colours with water when she needed them. It meant that total focus could be placed on the patterns, rather than trying to gather the raw materials to make her paints.

On this occasion Sara lit a fire, so that the chaotic flickering light of the leaping flames could counteract the chaos in her head. She ground up some powder and carefully mixed it with water, and then furiously painted on a bare wall what she felt inside her spirit.

The keening cry that Sara made as she worked sent shivers down Sylwanin's spine, the pain in her sister's voice only briefly interrupted by broken phrases in Na'vi, and what had to be the tawtute tongue 'Ìnglìsì. Spidery markings quickly spread over the cave wall. Sylwanin knew that the symbols had meaning, full of portent and dread, without knowing how she knew, or what the content of the markings were.

"Kalinkey," she called out softly, walking down into the main body of the cave, "What do you do?"

Sara stopped in mid-stroke, shut her eyes, and said, "Go away. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not sane right now. I'm not sane. I'm not me. The patterns..." She suddenly ceased her words, and continued scrawling on the wall, her left index finger dipping into the bowl she was holding in her right hand, and travelling to write on the smooth cave wall.

Sylwanin stood alongside her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, but took care not to touch her skin. She observed that the bowl in Sara's right hand was almost dry, so she asked quietly, "Would you like me to make you some more paint?" There were other empty bowls here, neatly ordered and ruthlessly cleaned, next to the jars of ochre and powdered dye, which, Sylwanin expected, were strictly ordered in gradation of colour.

The hand paused in mid-stroke. Sara turned to face Sylwanin, who was shocked to see her tear-stained face. Sylwanin lifted a hand to touch her sister on the shoulder, only for Sara to flinch away.

"Forgive me," said Sylwanin, pulling her hand back.

An expression of gratitude mixed with pain crossed Sara's face. She replied, "I'm sorry, Sylwanin. It is difficult to be me right now. Difficult to touch. But paint. Paint. Yes, I would like paint. Black, black in a bowl."

Nodding, Sylwanin took up a bowl and started mixing the powder and water with a sure hand. She asked, "What do the symbols mean, Kalinkey?"

There was over a minute's silence until Sara replied, "I see fragments, shards, pieces, sections."

"Fragments of what?" asked Sylwanin.

"Eywa," was the single word answer.

* * *

It was after midnight when Sara finally stopped, shivering from exhaustion. She slumped to her knees in relief that the compulsion had released her.

"Kalinkey!" cried out Sylwanin. She rushed over to hold Sara, who this time did not attempt to escape her embrace.

"It's ok, alright, fine, good," whispered Sara. "I'm just tired, weary, drowsy, sleepy. Please hold me."

Sylwanin drew Sara down to the ground, and curled about her, so that she could keep her exhausted sister warm.

* * *

Mo'at frowned at her daughter Sylwanin, while they watched Sara treating a sick child. She was making him laugh by pulling funny faces, so that he would not worry about taking the potion to settle his stomach, while his mother hovered anxiously over him.

Sylwanin remembered the potion very well, having been forced to take it on a number of previous occasions, as a child. It tasted horrible, but it worked. She could still remember the bitter taste of it on her tongue.

"You said she saw parts of Eywa," said Mo'at, "Even though she was not bonded with a willow tree?"

"Srane," said Sylwanin. "That was what she told me. Except that she said she saw fragments. From the way that she spoke, it was as though she was speaking of a pottery crock, a favourite that had been dropped and broken. A crock she was trying to piece together again."

"This is of concern," mused Mo'at. "Akwey is too old and feeble to be the healer of the clan now. The Omaticaya cannot afford to have a healer disabled by madness, and we have no other healer than Kalinkey."

"She is not mad," asserted Sylwanin hotly. "Look at her. There is no Na'vi who is as gentle as Kalinkey, only."

Mo'at's mouth twisted as she replied, "Tsawlontu might dispute her gentleness. She has thrown a number of crocks at him. The potter is becoming tired of making new ones for her."

"That is not fair, mother," snapped Sylwanin. "She has not thrown crocks at anyone else, and Tsawlontu can be both insensitive and a skxawng. Often he speaks before thinking. If I had a crock near to me when he said some things, I would have thrown one also."

"That is true," conceded Mo'at, who had occasionally been tempted to do much the same, although Tsawlontu seemed be getting better. Perhaps Sara was taming him, and a thrown pottery crock could be the clincher to a very convincing argument. "I will talk to her."

* * *

Sara cocked her head at the Tsahik, who had knelt on her treatment rug before her. The last of her patients for the day had departed, satisfied with the care they had received. She was a lot more popular with her patients than Akwey, mostly for the cheerfulness of her demeanour.

"I doubt that you need my services, Tsahik," stated Sara. "You seem very well to me."

"It is more that I am concerned with you, my child," said Mo'at. "Sylwanin told me of last night."

"Oh," replied Sara, squirming slightly under Mo'at's penetrating gaze. "I had not thought she would trouble you."

Mo'at smiled. "My daughter loves you, Kalinkey. Of course she would talk to me, if she was anxious for the health of your spirit. Tell me what troubles you."

Sara twisted her hands together nervously, looking down at the ground between them, as though she was studying the pattern on her treatment rug. "I am not like others, I know, not like a real person," she started. "I do not think in words, but in patterns and numbers."

"Why do you say you are not real?" asked the Tsahik of the Omaticaya curiously.

"There is something missing inside me," replied Sara. "The rules that are easy for others to see, on how to act and behave, I do not." She frowned, adding, "Though it is easier being Na'vi than tawtute."

"So you do not feel complete," said Mo'at.

"No," replied Sara, feeling a little like she was back in the pale green room, when one or another of the many therapists she had seen over the years questioned her.

Mo'at nodded. "Sylwanin told me you see other things."

"Yes," agreed Sara reluctantly, and clamped her jaw shut. She wanted to retreat into the corner of the alcove, and curl into a ball, but did not. A rule she had discovered was that if the Tsahik was talking to one, one had to respond. It would have broken the rule if she had retreated.

There was a silence while Mo'at studied the young healer. It seemed she had pushed Sara hard, perhaps too hard. "You are not yet complete, as the Omaticaya see it," commented Mo'at. "You have not passed through Uniltaron, the dream hunt, so you cannot be considered adult. Perhaps if you find your totem animal, you will feel more at one with yourself."

"Perhaps," conceded Sara.

"If you are known to your totem animal, then Eywa may seem less fractured to you," said Mo'at. "You shall prepare for Uniltaron. I think you are ready."

Sara shivered. The dream hunt, although it used the same kaliweya sting as did Uniluke, was more dangerous by far.

"I see you are not so sure," said Mo'at with a smile. "This is a good sign."

"Yes, Mo'at," responded Sara, more than a little nervously. "If you say so."

The Tsahik rose gracefully to her feet, and turned as though to leave, but then turned back. "There is one other thing, Kalinkey," she said. "I wish that you should teach me to speak the tawtute tongue, 'Ìnglìsì. Eywa ngahu."

"Eywa ngahu," echoed Sara, and shivered again.

* * *

Sylwanin and Tsawlontu – being the only family that Sara could lay claim to – prepared Sara for Uniltaron, painting her in the swirls of white paint required for the ceremony.

"Stop shaking," said Tsawlontu gently. "There is nothing to be afraid of. You will be fine."

Sylwanin agreed, "He is right for once, Kalinkey."

"I am not a brave warrior," objected Sara. "If I want to shake with fear, then I shall."

"I can think of one way to stop her from worrying," said Tsawlontu.

"How?" asked Sara, eager to be diverted from what was about to happen.

"I could touch you here, and here, and there," teased Tsawlontu, demonstrating with one hand.

Sara groaned, her heart speeding up, thudding powerfully inside her torso. She swayed towards Tsawlontu, and bit her lower lip seductively.

"Tsawlontu!" scolded Sylwanin. "This is supposed to be a solemn initiation, not preparation for mating."

"It worked," retorted Tsawlontu. "Kalinkey has stopped shaking."

Indeed it had, thought Sara. All she could think of now was trying to mate with Tsawlontu. Or Sylwanin. Or Sylwanin and Tsawlontu. Her fear had been blown away by lust.

The two Na'vi escorted Sara to the alcove for Uniltaron, each one holding her by an elbow, to stop her knees from buckling. She knelt in the centre of the circle of the elders of the clan, while Sylwanin and Tsawlontu retreated.

When Mo'at presented her with the live glow-worm, twisting about her fingers, it was only with the lightest hesitation that Sara took it into her mouth and swallowed it. She took care not to chew it, but still it did not taste good, wriggling as it slid down her gullet. The sting of the kali'weya was almost an anti-climax in comparison.

Before Sara knew it, her spirit was soaring out of her body, high into the sky. She could see the pulses of life flowing through the veins of Eywa, connecting everything. Her spirit blinked, the flows changing into the manifolds she had seen once before, before flicking back into the pulsing rivers of life.

Her spirit floated for what seemed like an eternity, above the world, seeing it in all its unity.

Suddenly, her focus narrowed, and she plunged down, down towards the world, until there was only one thing before her – her totem.

Before she could blink, or think, or even move, her spirit snapped back into her body. She had passed through Uniltaron, and was still alive, although every muscle in her body ached.

Sara staggered to her feet, and stumbled out of the alcove in a daze, hardly hearing the congratulations of the clan elders. After she was greeted into the clan by Eytukan, using words she hardly heard or understood, after the joining of hands, somehow Sara found Tsawlontu and Sylwanin waiting for her. After they had both embraced her, her life mate asked, "What is your totem animal?"

She could not answer Tsawlontu's question. There was a reason why she could not, a very good reason.

Her totem was not an animal.

It was a willow tree.


	29. Chapter 29

Uniltaron was usually accompanied by celebration and feasting. The successful passage of a member of the clan, no matter what her origin, was treated as a matter of great import, and all believed that celebration was justified, even though Sara had been the only candidate.

Tsawlontu and his brother Mìnkxetse managed to corner her before she slipped away, and encouraged her to drink some berry liquor. The first few mouthfuls didn't taste very nice, although after a few more she began to like it.

The next thing she knew was that she was dancing to the beat of the drums, out in the middle of the communal space by herself, to the cheers and encouragement of the entire clan. She had never danced before, always before having been too shy to get up. Now, however, she shouted and whirled, stamping her feet to the thunder of the drums, her queue swinging around as she flicked her head to make it fly.

This was fun.

Suddenly, she found herself dancing the katas that she had been taught by the Major and Nadia, performing the deadly movements of taekkyon to the rhythm of drum and flute. It all went very well, until she tripped, and landed flat on her back in front of one of the largest drums, which was being pounded by her very own life mate Tsawlontu. She grinned up at him, and laughed, and he laughed back.

"Kaltxi," she giggled. She felt a little like she did during Uniluke, before the kali'weya sting. "Would you help me up, my love?" Sara held up her hand.

Tsawlontu stopped drumming, holding both his drumming sticks in one hand, and hauled Sara to her feet. She landed hard against his body – he steadied her by placing both his hands on her hips. They gazed into each other's eyes for several seconds, when he moved to kiss her. Needless to say, she submitted, but while Tsawlontu was distracted, she filched his drumsticks and spun away.

"Hey!" he shouted. "They're mine!"

"You can have them back if you let me drum," teased Sara, her voice carrying across the gathering.

There was a sudden silence across the entire clan. Drumming was reserved for men. This was one of the rules that Sara did not know, one of the rules that she had not managed to interpret, for it was a rule that was unspoken. Any chance that she might have had of interpreting the silence had been blown away by her consumption of berry liquor.

Tsawlontu's muscles froze in horror – how could he say no to his life mate? He turned towards Eytukan and Mo'at, his supplicant hands spread in an unspoken question. Sara, of course, did not notice his distress.

Eytukan smiled, and pronounced, "Let Kalinkey drum. This is her day."

Tsawlontu backed away, leaving Sara free access to his drum. She stepped up, and suffered a mad impulse to hammer on the drum skin as hard as she could. Somehow, she resisted the temptation, instead shutting her eyes, and listening. Not to the silence, for the gathered clan were not making the slightest noise, but to what was outside, what was all around them.

She started tapping lightly around the rim of the drum, the sticks striking the frame like the first drops of a rain shower striking the ground. Gradually she increased the tempo, and then one stick moved onto the skin of the drum, the steady beat of the rain mixing in contra-time with the lightness of the shower. The rain became heavier, sweeping across the dark sky of Sara's imagination, the air throbbing angrily under rolls of thunder. Drops of sweat flew from her skin as Sara allowed the storm of sound to sweep her up in a frenzy of drumming. Slowly, she eased the power and rhythm of the beats, until it was no more than a few drops of rain, and then quiet, like a brief summer storm that was now nothing more than steam rising from the ground.

The only thing that stopped Sara from folding up and collapsing to the ground was that the drum was there to lean against. She panted, exhausted from her outpouring of emotion, hearing nothing but silence and the pounding of her heart as she rested her forehead against the great drum.

"It seems that the Omaticaya has a new custom," said a wry male voice from over her shoulder, to the approving murmurs of the clan.

Sara straightened and turned, to see Eytukan and Mo'at smiling at her. "A new custom?" asked Sara, confused.

"Yes, Kalinkey," said Eytukan. "From this time on, not only men will strike the drums, and our songs will remember that Kalinkey te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite was the first female to drum."

Mo'at added, "And that she drummed the spirit of rain the first time she placed stick to hide."

"Did I break a rule?" she asked anxiously, suddenly feeling as though she had made a mistake.

"Nay, my child," corrected Mo'at. "This is how customs are made. There is always one who goes first. This time it was you."

"Oh," she said, a little confused. Sara caught sight of Tsawlontu standing respectfully behind the olo'eyktan and Tsahik, and extended the drum sticks to him. "These are yours," she said. "I promised I would return them."

Tsawlontu shook his head. "They are not mine, any longer," he said. "I give them to you, as from one drummer to another, in recognition of your skill with the drum."

* * *

It was some time after Sara became a drummer that the first of the new Avatars came to speak with the Omaticaya.

Of course, she knew exactly how many days it had been. Sara had counted each and every one, more out of habit than for any other reason. The number of days no longer seemed to be quite so important to her, although counting was what she liked doing. There were other things she liked doing as much as counting – or even more.

Sara discovered that she loved working as a healer. Not only was there working with the sick and injured, but there was also collecting and preparing the multitude of plants used in producing drugs and other supplies. And if she ever got even the tiniest bit bored, there was always rearranging her supply shelves to a new, more optimised pattern. The most fun she had was when she decided to sort her jars and crocks by the sound they made when she tapped them with one of her drumming sticks. This took constant readjustment, as the sound changed according to how full each jar was. Sara could also use this to determine when she needed to collect more of a particular plant to replenish her supplies, so it wasn't just fun, it was efficient.

Then again, sex was loads of fun too, even if it wasn't particularly efficient.

When she was not occupied with her duties as healer, making love, or drumming, she taught a very few of the Na'vi the tawtute tongue. Mo'at had decided that only those who could be counted on to conceal their knowledge would be permitted to learn from Sara, in order to protect her from exposure to the tawtute. Among those few were Mo'at herself, Sylwanin and Tsawlontu.

Tsawlontu complained about the number of rules that she insisted that he needed to learn to speak 'Ìnglìsì. "Na'vi is much simpler," he griped. "You just say what you need to, without having to learn all these silly rules."

Sara laughed at his disgusted expression. "Na'vi has many rules," she replied. "You learnt them by listening as a child, ma'Tsawlontu, without realising that you knew them."

Sylwanin asked, "How did you discover them, Kalinkey? You learnt so quickly."

This had been a question she had been considering for months. Sara had come to the realisation that she had known Na'vi before she had left Earth, without being taught. She hesitated slightly before replying, "On 'Rrta, the tawtute have grown a forest from seed taken from our world, a forest under a dome of glass, protected from the air of their world. There was a willow tree..." Sara looked away, up into the sky, and sighed. She took a deep breath before continuing, "When I formed the bond with the willow tree, I could hear Eywa whispering to me. Her voice was so faint, and I could not understand it at first." Sara turned back to face the three fascinated Na'vi. "That was how I learnt to speak our tongue, and learn the rules that governed it." Her serious mien disappeared with a grin, "I like things with rules."

"What of this forest?" frowned Mo'at. "Can the tawtute hear it?"

"No," said Sara. "The tawtute..."

Her words were interrupted by the roar of a kunsìp approaching.

* * *

Lewis gazed across the cargo area of the Samson at the nervous Avatar. "Don't worry, Doc," he said. "The Omaticaya are mostly friendly."

"Mostly friendly?" asked Doctor Grace Augustine. This mission was so important – it might impact on the entire future of humanity on this planet, and she was desperate not to screw it up.

The marine shrugged. "Last time I was there, one of the young warriors and I had a minor disagreement."

This was one of the few fragments she had been able to gather from any of the Sec-ops troops – or the RDA employees – of what happened before she arrived. "What happened?

It was as though shutters were suddenly closed over his eyes. It was an expression with which Grace had become all too familiar over the ten months. "Not much," he replied. "Änsit didn't like humans. I suspect his opinion hasn't changed." Lewis touched his throat mike, and muttered a few words to the pilot. Lewis said, "We're going to land a little way from Hometree. The direhorses are disturbed by the noise from a chopper, and I don't want to upset anyone more than necessary."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. Despite his totally unwillingness to discuss his experiences with the Na'vi, Lewis had been a very good teacher – for a jarhead. She had often wondered how he had gained his incredible fluency in the native language. He clearly took a great deal of care over his charges.

"Irayo," he corrected calmly.

"Sorry," blushed Grace, feeling her face grow hot. When he flicked up an eyebrow at her, she corrected herself, "Ngaytxoa."

Lewis was curious as to how the Omaticaya would receive the Avatars. They looked a lot more human than Sara ever had. He nodded to acknowledge Grace's effort. For a geek, he rather liked her, despite her now notorious hot temper.

"G'luck," growled one of the door gunners as the chopper touched down, but Lewis was already out the door, hitting the ground and rolling back onto his feet, assault rifle at the ready. Grace's exit from the chopper was not nearly as practiced, as her foot caught on the landing skid and she ended face down in the dirt.

Lewis said nothing as Grace hauled herself to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, although she could feel the smirk of the door-gunner between her shoulder blades. "Let's go," she said.

* * *

Sylwanin had run towards the noise of the kunsìp, when she came face to face with a tawtute she stopped dead and smiled. "Oel ngati kameie, Lu'iss."

"I see you, Sylwanin," replied the marine, returning her gesture of greeting.

"Who is this?" she demanded, pointing her finger at a stranger. The tall being with Lewis was not a tawtute, although it was dressed like one. Nor was it Na'vi, even though the skin was the right colour – its eyes were too small, and the face too thin. Sylwanin's eyes narrowed as she noted, "It has too many fingers, and it does not look right."

"This is Toktor Grace Augustine," answered Lewis. "She is a dreamwalker, and wishes to speak to the olo'eyktan and the Tsahik."

Sylwanin's eyes raked over the dreamwalker with an air of disdain. There was no threat from this one. She nodded, "Follow me."

* * *

Sara watched the new Avatar talking to Mo'at and Eytukan from the rear of the crowd. The strange sight of a Na'vi – or rather a dreamwalker – wearing tawtute clothes was somewhat startling. She was so engrossed with the sight she did not notice that Lewis had slipped away from the stranger and circled the Omaticaya gathered about the stranger.

"Kaltxi," he said, making her jump.

"Lu'iss," she hissed. "What do you do? I am not supposed to talk to tawtute."

"I have a message for you," he said. "Lissa asked me to bring you any that came."

"Come," she ordered quietly, looking from side to side. The safest place at the moment would be the healer's alcove.

* * *

"Hi Sara," said Nadia, her fingers flicking in sign language as she spoke. "It's me again."

The v-mail on the small field data tablet was crystal clear, showing the interior of a shabby single room that appeared to be combination study, bedroom, kitchen and living area. The only thing it didn't seem to be was a bathroom, and a portion of that could be seen through an open doorway.

"I've had to move digs to something smaller and cheaper," she said, making a face. "It's in a fairly grungy neighbourhood. I've been here three months – it was a little difficult at first, and the commute to Stanford is almost an hour each way. I was mugged three times in the first week getting off the monorail. Don't worry, I wasn't hurt, and they didn't get any money." She smiled ferally. "I didn't beat the third one into unconsciousness, so he could spread the news. It was getting tiresome being mugged. Now I get left alone."

"Well, the masters came a few months ahead of schedule, and now I'm well into my doctorate," she said. "It took a little while to find a doctoral supervisor who would take me on. Doctor Chumley is an old dear – he must be over eighty if he's a day. I like him, and the work is really interesting too. There aren't really any indigenous cultures left on Earth, but the endowment for Doctor Chumley's chair is very old and very large and pretty well unbreakable, so we have to make do. My thesis is on Southern Californian Hispanic gangs and their dance traditions."

"That was another reason for moving to this neighbourhood. It is much more convenient for fieldwork, and most would be anthropologists are too scared to come here."

"A funny thing happened the first time I met one of the local gang leaders," she said. "He offered me a job as an enforcer. It seemed that one of the muggers I put into hospital was from a rival gang, and had been trespassing on their turf. I had to decline, very politely, of course. Yago was very gracious, especially after I explained that it would be difficult to do field work in other gangs' territory if I was working for him. He even arranged to introduce me to some of the rival gang leaders."

"They all think I'm crazy, of course," shrugged Nadia. "Some of the dances the gang members do, however, are just lovely." A wistful expression appeared on her face, but then she shook her head as though to shake off her regrets.

"The interesting part of the whole exercise was that Yago sponsored me to get a safe conduct tattoo," said Nadia. "It gives me complete freedom to move throughout the barrio. The only problem was when I took off my shirt to get inked, the tattooist fainted away when he saw my scars. Even Yago looked a little green around the gills, and he is as tough as they come. The tattooist had to take some sedatives to stop his hands shaking, and he had a little problem finding enough unscarred skin for the tattoo."

Nadia shrugged off her shirt briefly to show an intricate design on her right shoulder. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"That's all I have for now. Love you," smiled Nadia.

The data tablet screen faded to black.

* * *

"Who was that?" asked Lewis, who had been watching the v-mail under Sara's shoulder. "She sounds like one tough broad."

Sara replied simply, "Nadia is my friend. She taught me how not to be a victim."

Lewis asked, "Do you want to send a reply?"

Shaking her head, Sara answered, "No. Nadia knows that I am alive, just as I know that she is well – or as well as she can be on 'Rrta."

"It must be tough, knowing that you will never see her again," commented Lewis.

"Why do you say this, Lu'iss?" asked Sara. "Nadia is coming here. Eywa called her. All I have to do is wait."


	30. Chapter 30

Grace hadn't noticed Lewis vanish. When he reappeared by her side, after she had finished talking with the Tsahik, she demanded, "Where the hell did you go?"

Lewis replied, "I had to see a man about a dog. Did you get what you wanted?"

"I'm not sure," frowned Grace. "Both the Tsahik and the olo'eyktan were very gracious, but neither of them would make a commitment. Perhaps I didn't express myself clearly."

"What did you ask for?" requested Lewis. "You never told me." The marine had figured that whatever she was going to request from the Omaticaya would be unlikely to cross any taboos, so he hadn't worried about asking her up front.

"I told them I study plants and trees," she replied, "and wished to learn all that the Omaticaya could teach me of their nature."

"That seems reasonable enough," commented Lewis.

"They seemed quite calm when I told them this," said Grace. "When I asked if I could talk to their healer they seemed a little, um, surprised. Or perhaps reluctant. They asked me why I wished to speak to the healer. The answer was simple enough. In any primitive tribe, the healer knows more about plants than anyone else."

"I hope you didn't call them primitive," said Lewis, his heart suddenly leaping into his mouth. Fortunately, Grace was not looking at him as he spoke. "The Na'vi can be quite touchy about their honour. What did they say?"

"Mo'at – that is her name, isn't it?" asked Grace, looking at him for confirmation. When he nodded, she continued, "Mo'at said she would have to ask if the healer is agreeable." She noticed an odd expression on the marine's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," replied Lewis. "It's just that Kalinkey is a little, um, odd. She isn't like the other Na'vi."

"Odd?" What was odd? That Lewis seemed to know the name of every adult and many of the children of the Omaticaya? That he knew their personalities, their roles and relationships? Now, that was odd.

"The Omaticaya call her an innocent," replied Lewis. "She is more like a child than an adult. They are very protective of her." He gave a hard look at the Avatar. "If you upset her, or hurt her in any way, they will be very angry."

"Is she retarded?" asked Grace, a little worried for her research.

Lewis snorted derisively, "Kalinkey is probably smarter than you, Doc. She's just a little odd."

* * *

"You do not have to do this thing," said Mo'at.

Sara shook her head. "If this alien has come here to learn about plants, then Eywa meant her to come and learn from me. I will teach her what I can, although I do not expect that she will see what I see."

Both Sylwanin and Tsawlontu looked unhappy at her reply. "It will be dangerous," objected her mate. "The tawtute dreamwalker may discover your origins, and take you away from us."

"Tsawlontu is right," agreed Sylwanin, one of the few occasions she had ever agreed with him. "This may happen."

"I do not see why," replied Sara. "My face has changed shape since I became a woman and mated, and my skin is darker from the sun. Even my spots have changed, and my speech cannot be distinguished from another Omaticaya. There is no reason for a tawtute who does not know me to recognise me."

It was true. Sara's face had become subtly broader, as the final year of her growth as a woman had completed. Even her hips were wider than when she first came to the Omaticaya. She knew this, as the loincloth she first wore to come to Kelutrel was now uncomfortable, and cut into her flesh. Sara had refused to wear it for many months. She had been pleased with this growth, as it was now easier to take Tsawlontu between her thighs, and when the time came, her broader hips would ease childbirth.

Sara knew from her time before she came to Pandora that human women worried about the size of their bodies. She could not understand their obsession. As long as one was healthy, and had the love of one's mate and lover, it should not matter at all.

"What if the tawtute wishes to take part of your flesh to study you?" asked Mo'at. "The dreamwalker woman said she would do this with plants, so why not with you? Your own flesh could betray you."

"I would like to see her try," chuckled Sara, her eyes lighting up.

* * *

"What is your name?" asked Grace of the healer. She offered a hand out of habit.

Sara looked at the hand presented to her as though it was a snake. She did not like to be touched by anyone that she did not know well – very well. She made no move to take the very human looking hand, making Grace feel extremely uncomfortable, until she suddenly snatched her hand back. Eventually, Sara replied stiffly, "You may call me Kalinkey."

The uniltìranyu woman looked very strange to Sara – an odd mix of human and Na'vi characteristics. "Your face is thin, and your eyes are too small, Toktor Grace Augustine," commented Sara. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose in distaste, smelling the all-too-familiar scents of machines and stale sweat on the woman's excessive clothing. Lissa had smelt very different. "Your scent...perhaps it is best that you do not know," said Sara. Her mouth twitched, but did not expect that the stranger would appreciate her little joke. She had learnt long ago that humans viewed acute observations on their personal characteristics unfavourably.

Grace ground her teeth, and tried to be polite. This woman was not like the gracious Tsahik at all. Perhaps Lewis was right when he had said Kalinkey was odd. "Please, call me Grace."

"You have the dead thing that stores what one sees and hears?" demanded Sara. There was no word in Na'vi for a data tablet or PDA. When Grace nodded in confirmation, Sara said, "Good. I will only need to tell you once. This will take long enough as it is, and you must do as I say. If you do not understand what I tell you, question me. Only skxawng pretend they know everything." Sara had a sudden flashback to her first meeting with the Major, remembering what he had told her.

"How long do you think I will need to spend with you?" asked Grace.

"If you come at early afternoon, and leave before nightfall, it will take many months," replied Sara, after a moment's consideration. "I must spend the first part of the day as a healer." When she saw Grace was about to ask a question, Sara added, "I expect to see you every day, unless I say otherwise."

The scientist was stunned by Sara's words. It was a huge commitment of time on her part, far beyond what Grace had ever expected.

"I see you are surprised," said Sara, and smiled charmingly. "I am not a good teacher. By practising on a uniltìranyu, I hope to become better. Then when it comes time to teach a stripling the way of the healer, I will do better than Akwey, who was my teacher."

* * *

This was the most gruelling experience that Grace had ever undertaken. The last five months had been relentless, a flood of information pouring out from Sara like rain from the clouds.

Her memory was phenomenal. Sara expounded on the methods of identification of every plant they come across, from leaves and flowers, to bark, roots and seeds. She talked about methods of propagation, of growth rates and stages to maturity and senescence, of symbiotic relationships between different types of plants, insects and animals. It was an astonishing tour-de-force.

Her methods were not just visual and verbal, but also extended to touch, smell and taste. She once showed Grace three species that could only be differentiated from each other by scent – which was extremely important, as the crushed leaves of one was an excellent treatment for colic, the second was medically useless, while the third would kill an adult Na'vi within minutes if ingested.

It wasn't just identification, either. Sara also related the preparation of the multitude of drugs and potions available to the Na'vi from each and every species that she identified. Grace's loosely held view that the Na'vi were a primitive tribe was quickly blown away, soon realising that she was receiving the equivalent of an advanced degree course in the fundamentals of Pandoran forest botany and ecology, and its application to Na'vi healthcare.

Grace was positive that Sara had not repeated herself a single time, every nugget of information that she provided being absolutely new and fresh to Grace.

"Kalinkey, how did you come to be a healer?" asked Grace.

Sara made a face and replied, "I am not a good hunter. The first time I went on a hunt and saw a kill, I was very sick. My heart is soft, and finds the act of killing...distasteful. The Tsahik judged that I should not become a hunter, for the hurt that it did to my spirit. Ma'Sylwanin persuaded Akwey that I could be a good student, so I was sent to him to learn the craft of healing." She looked thoughtful for a moment, adding, "I like being a healer very much."

"But you carry a bow," noted Grace.

"The forest is a dangerous place, so all Na'vi are taught the art of the bow," replied Sara. "I do not intend ending up my life nantang or palulukan shit." She stood a little straighter, proudly saying, "I am a very good shot at target, as good as ma'Tsawlontu, although he can shoot further than I. On the other hand, ma'Sylwanin is the best archer in the whole clan."

Grace noticed that Kalinkey was using the intimate possessive for both Sylwanin and Tsawlontu. She knew that the male was Kalinkey's mate, but what was the relationship between Kalinkey and the elder daughter of the olo'eyktan and Tsahik? She had to know, so she asked.

Sara replied simply, "Sylwanin is my sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, and my lover. Do you not have such a sister?"

"Ah, no," admitted Grace, feeling a hot rush of blood to her face.

Sara replied, "That is a shame. There is much love and consolation to be had in the arms of a sister like Sylwanin." She paused, and knelt by the side of a dying warbonnet, its leaves dying and shrivelling. She drew her knife from its scabbard, and pointed it to a moss that had grown around the base of the plant. "This moss is sickening the eyaye, and is only found where the plant is old and frail. No, do not touch it," she said, grabbing hold of Grace's wrist as she went to poke a finger into the succulent purple moss. "It is very dangerous."

"How?" asked Grace curiously, as Sara cautiously scraped some of the moss into a tiny pottery jar, using the blade of her knife. She did not answer, as the healer was preoccupied with carefully sealing the jar airtight with a soft wax.

"I must cleanse my knife blade now," said Sara. She cast her eyes about, until they lit upon a pitcher plant, or what the Na'vi called a yomioang. "Forgive me," she murmured, and stabbed the blade into the base of the plant, burying it up to its hilt and leaving it there for some time while she talked, "When the heart does not beat properly, but twitches and spasms like this," - Sara held her hands close, wiggling her fingers chaotically – "a tiny dose of the moss onto the tongue will correct the heartbeat."

"We have drugs like this," commented Grace. It seemed that the Na'vi also suffered heart attacks – she had just been given an almost perfect description of chaotic fibrillation.

"If the moss is touched to a wet part of the body of a healthy Na'vi," said Sara, "like the tongue, or inside the nose, the moss may stop the heart." She withdrew her knife from the plant and rinsed it in a nearby stream.

There was nothing that Grace could say other than, "Oh."

She remembered this exchange vividly, as the very next thing that Sara said was, "Climb! Now! As high as you can!" By this stage Sara was scrambling up a tree as quickly as she could, and was already several body lengths into the air. Grace followed her clumsily, as the healer kept on hissing, "Faster! Faster!" She did not stop until she was over fifty metres up the tree.

"What is it?" hissed Grace softly.

Sara pointed down at a huge black shape sliding effortlessly through the undergrowth. "Palulukan," she whispered back. "It came from upwind, so it is not hunting, although it is best not to give it a chance."

Grace had only seen a few brief fragments of video of what the humans called a thanator. Despite that, it was easy for her to recognise Pandora's peak land predator, and a shiver went down her back. She had not detected a single sign of its approach, and if it had been her she suspected her Avatar would now be dead.

"It is unusual to see one so close to Kelutrel," whispered Sara.

It was eerie how quiet the forest had become, as the abundant wildlife tried to make themselves inconspicuous to the huge predator, just like the Na'vi and the Avatar high up in the tree.

"Irayo," said Grace thankfully.

Sara shrugged, "I do not wish to become palulukan shit, and I thought you would agree with my opinion."

The scientist chuckled in response, and then became serious. "Kalinkey," she asked, "Did you know the first Avatar, Sara?"

"Yes," replied Sara, the wary look on her face half-hidden by the dappled shadows produced by the leaves of the tree.

"What happened to her?" asked Grace.

"I am not permitted to tell you," said Sara truthfully. "The Tsahik has forbidden all talk of her with the tawtute. The old olo'eyktan of the tawtute, Zhong, swore an oath that he would keep her fate a secret, and that all tawtute would abide by his commitment. If I told you, it would cause Zhong to break his oath. The Omaticaya do not wish an honourable person - even an alien like Zhong – to do such a thing, even if not by his hand." She paused for a moment, before she said quietly, "Do not ask this question of any Omaticaya again."

That day's lesson was cut abruptly short in an uncomfortable silence. They returned to Kelutrel as soon as the forest noise returned to normal after the passage of the palulukan. Grace mentioned this to Lewis after she emerged from the link chamber.

"Jesus fuck!" he exploded. "Are you trying to get your Avatar killed?"

"I thought it was an innocent question," said Grace.

"Fuck no," said Lewis. "The Na'vi kill oath breakers. You are lucky Kalinkey did not slit your throat right there and then. Virtually any other adult Omaticaya would have."

"But..." objected Grace.

"You are not an Omaticaya," snarled Lewis. "You are not even a Na'vi. You are an alien. If you break one of their taboo customs, the normal rules do not apply, and you may be killed out of hand. No trial, no appeal, no nothing."

"But..." tried Grace again.

"Forget it, Grace," ordered Lewis. "Don't even think about it."

* * *

The next afternoon, when Grace returned for her next lesson with Kalinkey, it was as though the uncomfortable moment of the previous day had never happened.


	31. Chapter 31

"I would like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn from Kalinkey," said Grace to the Tsahik. It had been almost a year since she had started receiving lessons from the Na'vi – a very gruelling year.

"It is not me that you should be thanking," said Mo'at. "Kalinkey is the one you should thank."

"Nevertheless, I wish to repay your hospitality," insisted Grace. "The tawtute wish to build a school for the Omaticaya."

Mo'at frowned. This was an unfamiliar word, an 'Ìnglìsì word that Sara had not discussed. "What is a school?" she asked, wondering how one built one, and what it was made of.

Grace replied, "It is a place, a special place that the tawtute use to teach knowledge."

"Why do the tawtute need a special place to learn?" asked Mo'at curiously., thinking this was very strange."The Omaticaya do not need such a place – we learn as we live."

"The tawtute have found a way of teaching many people the same things quickly – especially young people," replied Grace. "We do this in a school, but before we need your permission to make this place."

"What would you teach the Omaticaya at such a place as this...school?" It was, after all, the obvious question for Mo'at to ask.

Grace took a deep breath. "I would teach the tawtute language, and the way the tawtute store words in books, so that one may know the words of another, even though that person is long departed." It seemed the obvious thing to teach a pre-literate culture like the Na'vi. One of her colleagues at Hell's Gate was vehemently opposed to any attempt to impose literacy on the Na'vi, holding that it would destroy their oral culture. Grace suspected that Na'vi culture was a lot more robust and resistant to change than any human might suspect – after all, there was evidence that Kelutrel had been inhabited by the Omaticaya or their predecessors for well over five thousand years, longer than the entirety of human recorded history.

"I must discuss this with the olo'eyktan, and others," said Mo'at slowly. "There will be an answer for you, in seven days."

* * *

"Kalinkey, tell us of the tawtute learning place they call school," requested Eytukan.

"It is a place the tawtute send their children, and young people, to learn in groups," said Sara. "I never went there, as I was thought to be impossible to teach." She whispered, "I was alone."

"Well, clearly they were wrong," commented Tsawlontu, drily. He had tagged along uninvited to this discussion. "You have learnt much since you have been with the Omaticaya."

"Be quiet," snapped Sylwanin. "Let Kalinkey speak."

"Go on," encouraged the olo'eyktan.

"There is not much else to tell," she said softly.

"What is it that they wish to make?" asked Mo'at. "Is it like their place, the place they call Hell's Gate?"

"Like, yet unlike," murmured Sara, unwilling to say any more. She was remembering what it had been like in the pale green room, where they had tried to make her learn.

Eytukan gave a worried glance to his mate – it was clear that they were distressing Sara by this line of questioning, so he said, "We need to know more of the tawtute. They will build their...school, and some of our young people will go. Including you, Sylwanin. We shall decide when we have learned enough of the tawtute."

"A good choice," agreed Mo'at. "There is a grove, a little way from Kelutrel, where they may build. It should not be too close to our home. The one where you fell from the tree, ma'Eytukan, trying to impress me with your strength and agility."

The olo'eyktan gave an ironic laugh. "Indeed, that is a good choice."

* * *

Sara was tired.

Not physically tired. She had poured out her spirit over many months to the uniltìranyu woman, teaching her everything that she knew of the forest, and of her healing craft. Perhaps it was better to say that she was empty, rather than tired.

That was why she was in her cave, running the tip of her index finger over the equations that she had painted, tracing the complex scrawling that she could only dimly understand now. She had been a very long time away from her numbers, and had lost much.

A crew of tawtute had been building the school for some weeks – one could hear them, even in Kelutrel. The noise of the machines they used echoed through the forest. Sara had not gone to watch them, even to see if Lewis was one of them. She had had enough of tawtute, enough of dreamwalkers. Sara just wanted to be left alone.

Every time she had taken the dreamwalker into the forest, Sara could not avoid seeing her five fingered hands, and she remembered the hands of the orderlies in the pale green room.

In the cave she could be alone, and if she cleared her mind Sara could imagine that the noise of the tawtute machines was not there.

* * *

The school had been open for over a month.

Grace had been surprised how quickly the Na'vi picked up English. The young Na'vi absorbed knowledge like a sponge absorbed water – they were an absolute pleasure to teach.

The students were a mix of young adults and children. Even the eldest daughter of the olo'eyktan and Tsahik – Sylwanin – attentively learnt what Grace had to teach. However, Grace was disappointed that one young Na'vi never appeared in the schoolroom.

At the end of day, Grace asked Sylwanin, "Why doesn't Kalinkey ever come here? She taught me so much about the forest. I only want to return the favour."

"She does not wish to come here," said Sylwanin.

"Why not?" asked Grace.

Sylwanin smiled sadly, "Teaching you cost her dearly – Kalinkey's spirit struggles in the company of strangers. She needs time alone to heal."

"But she never said anything," objected Grace. "I was with her for months."

"Kalinkey is very brave," said Sylwanin.

* * *

Over the years that passed, the rhythm of life settled into a pleasing pattern for Sara. She was happy working as the clan healer, and Tsawlontu gradually became less annoying, learning her volatile sensitivities.

They still fought, of course, and she still threw things at Tsawlontu when he rubbed her the wrong way.

Tsawlontu had come to realise that when she became jumpy, the best thing he could do was to give her some time to be alone. So he would go on extended hunting trips lasting a few days, to give her this time, and she was grateful for his thoughtfulness. Even though his absence was a wrench for Sara, she did not mind too much, as she knew he loved her and her idiosyncrasies.

Besides, Tsawlontu was always very affectionate when he returned.

Sylwanin told Sara frequently that she was silly to fight so much with her life-mate. Her reply was simple. Her mate was used to fighting with her, and she wanted to make him feel comfortable. Tsawlontu also seemed to enjoy the time alone, as he always returned from his trips with a smile on his face. Actually, she confided to Sylwanin it was often more about the make-up sex than anything else.

Sara had a fight with Tsawlontu on the morning there was to be an outcamp, when many of the Na'vi women went to a distant forest clearing where many useful plants grew, to gather and preserve them for the cool season. She enjoyed these outcamps, although Sylwanin refused to come. Sylwanin much preferred hunting to such pedestrian activities.

She was rendering down some particularly fibrous plants to make a cream to smooth roughened and cracking skin, when she looked up to see her mate on the edge of the clearing. "Tsawlontu!" she cried, and ran towards him, taking off about twenty feet away, to bear him to the ground. Once she had him firmly pinned beneath her, Sara smothered her life mate with kisses, murmuring, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, my love," replied Tsawlontu.

When Sara looked up, her eyes narrowed. There had been a stranger standing alongside Tsawlontu, a stranger she had not noticed in her pleasure at seeing her life-mate. What was worse, the stranger was a woman, and she was wearing tawtute clothes, even though she appeared to be Na'vi."Who is this?" she asked suspiciously. "She is not Omaticaya."

"A dreamwalker I found lost in the forest," answered Tsawlontu.

"I was not lost," rebutted the dreamwalker. "I knew exactly where I was."

There was something about the woman. Tsawlontu was right – she did have the five-fingered hands of a dreamwalker, but there was something different about her. She did not feel like a tawtute wearing a temporary body. Kalinkey snorted derisively at her mate. "You are exaggerating again, Tsawlontu. I would not be surprised if you were the one who was lost." She got up, took his hand and hauled him up to his feet, and turned to face the stranger. "I am Kalinkey, mate of this disreputable fellow."

The stranger replied, "I See you, Kalinkey. I am called Janelle. Your mate spoke often of you, praising your beauty and your character, and telling of his luck in winning you as his life-mate."

Sara glanced at her life-mate and smiled, her eyes glowing. Tsawlontu did not tell her enough that he loved her – not as far as she was concerned. "I See you, Zha'nelle, and am thankful for your lies. No doubt Tsawlontu told you that I have a temper and throw pots at his head, but you are the soul of courtesy."

"He did mention that you could get irritated from time to time," admitted the stranger called Zha'nelle.

"But you are injured," exclaimed Sara, observing a recent dressing on her side. It had been clumsily applied to her skin, and would not stay on for more than another day or so. She grabbed for Zha'nelle's free hand and ordered, "Come."

Sara almost dragged Zha'nelle into one of the tents, and started tut-tutting immediately. The dressing that some incompetent had applied was carefully peeled off. Sara clicked her tongue at the sight of the wounds, and proceeded to give the stranger an extended lecture of how to treat claw wounds, and how important it was to properly wash them properly before applying the orange resin. Fortunately, thought Sara, the wounds had not yet become infected.

"How were you wounded?" asked Sara, as she cleaned the wounds with an astringent. It was important that the patient was distracted while she did this, as it would hurt, and Sara did not want to aggravate the deep wounds. They were bad enough as it was.

"Palulukan," said Zha'nelle shortly, trying not to flinch.

It was clear that the wounds hurt a great deal, and the stranger was trying to be brave, so Sara did not ask any other questions. Instead, Sara told the woman to stay still, and not act like a baby. It was important that she did not move when the resin dressing was applied, otherwise it would not seal to the skin properly.

When Sara finished applying the dressing, she ran her eyes up and down the stranger. The wounds were only part of the problem. Sara stated, "Your ribs hurt, and you find it difficult to use your bow." When Zha'nelle nodded, Sara told her, "Good. I can fix that. Lie face down on the ground, hands by your sides." It was time for muscle easing and bone alignment.

The task was not that difficult, as the injury that caused the problem was not that old. Sara managed some very clean adjustments of the woman's spine, producing many loud crunches. She was amused to see the woman wriggle her toes after the first adjustment. This was the usual response of anyone she treated for the first time.

After a few minutes of some very satisfying bone crunches, Sara ordered, "Sit up." It was time to align the bones in her neck, which produced the loudest crunches of all. "On your feet." Once Zha'nelle was on her feet, Sara asked, "How do you feel?"

There was a dazed expression on the stranger's face. "Good," she admitted cautiously. "I feel like I am floating."

Sara nodded with satisfaction, saying, "I will need to see you again in five days, to remove the dressing, and straighten your back some more. Your neck is displaced from an old injury, and will require more work to fix. The muscles have tightened, keeping it in a bad position." She thought the injury probably resulted from the breaking of the woman's nose, which had a considerable bend.

Janelle admitted, "I thought the palulukan had cracked my ribs."

Shaking her head, Sara said, "No. It is very difficult for Na'vi to break bone, although you were very lucky." Her eyes narrowed again. "You are pretty, but you do not dress properly. I will fix that too."

* * *

It was noon before Sara allowed the blushing Zha'nelle out of the tent. It had been fun remaking her appearance as a proper Na'vi, despite Zha'nelle's protests. Sara had not felt any of the disquiet that she had felt towards the last uniltìranyu woman she had sighted – Grace Augustine. Instead, her feelings were quite different - the distress underlying the woman's calmness calling to her somehow. Sara wanted to hold her, and stroke away the woman's disquiet. It was with difficulty that Sara managed to control her impulse, wondering why her usual reluctance to be touched was not present with this woman. She would have to discuss this with Sylwanin, or perhaps Mo'at.

Tsawlontu whistled appreciatively when they emerged form the tent, earning a smack to the back of his head from his mate. "I thought you were pretty before," he said to Zha'nelle. "But now you really look like one of the People. My brother will be very impressed."

"You are taking her to the school?" queried Sara. She had known that Tsawlontu had been concerned for years that Mìnkxetse had not taken a mate. It seemed that he was eager for his brother to meet with Zha'nelle. If so, it would make Sara...pleased, for she wished to know this uniltìranyu woman more closely.

"Srane," he answered. "Zha'nelle has some urgent business with Grace Augustine that she has not discussed with me.

Sara grinned and commented, "She knows your character, my love. You would have blabbed her secrets to all that would listen, and many that would not. You had best take her, and return here tonight. I have much work for you to do."

"Work?" asked Zha'nelle curiously. "I thought that the Na'vi did not labour at night."

Sara grinned even more broadly. "I need Tsawlontu to attend to my needs for many hours. He has been neglecting his duties of late."

"Oh," said Zha'nelle weakly, realising what Sara meant.

"Come, Zha'nelle," said Tsawlontu, "Before you faint from embarrassment. I will take you to the school."

"What about my haw'naerftang?" protested Zha'nelle to Tsawlontu. "You promised that I could have some."

Sara disappeared into her tent, and reappeared thirty seconds later with a small cloth bag in one hand. "Here are some berries," she said, passing the bag to her life mate. "Do not let her drink too much."

Tsawlontu shuddered. "Only one bowl," he agreed, before he left the outcamp with the uniltìranyu.

* * *

That night, after Tsawlontu returned to the outcamp to satisfy her longings, he told Sara of Zha'nelle – how she was a dreamwalker who could not wake up to return to her tawtute body.

"I chose that fate for myself, the first time I dreamt myself to this body," commented Sara, after he finished relating the tale.

In the dark, she felt Tsawlontu smile before he replied, "I often forget that you were born tawtute." He kissed her again, and stroked her flank, making her groan with pleasure. "It was very good for me that you made this choice."

"The choice turned out very good for me, also," whispered Sara with a smile.

It was not until close to dawn that they finally broke the bond of tsahaylu, and Tsawlontu fell promptly deep asleep, as was his want. Sara dozed alongside him, flitting in and out of a dream. It had been over five years since the _ISV Evening Star_ had departed Pandoran orbit, carrying Phred back to Earth. She wondered in a moment of wakefulness if he had safely reached Earth, and hoped that he could become happy there.

* * *

Dr Phred Palmer did not look up from his desk as the next candidate for the Avatar program entered the interview room. He was tired of being gushed over about what a privilege it was to meet the man who had unlocked the language and culture of the Na'vi. No matter what anyone said, he was not the one who had done the field research. All he had done was to write it down.

Somehow Phred had become old and tired, and was not sure how it happened. All he knew was he missed his late wife, and their adopted daughter was five light years away, living her new life in a savage Paradise. He had only taken this job because he did not know what else to do with his life.

All the honours he had received were as dust in his mouth. Zhong, who had turned into a good friend on the return to Earth, told Phred that he should consider the accolades as acknowledgement of the work that Lissa and Sara had done, and feel proud for them. The advice helped a little, but his heart still hurt.

He scanned the cover note for this candidate – a doctorate in cultural anthropology, specialising in the dance of indigenous cultures. Not that there were many of those around any more. Still, she came highly recommended, with a note from the head of faculty at Stanford. Hmmm - a bachelor's degree in dance and a master's in linguistics as well – very different from the usual botanists, zoologists and ecologists that he had seen troupe through this office. Perhaps this one offered something different.

"Oel ngati kameie, Toktor Palmer," said a low voice, the Na'vi rippling like a forest stream. He looked up in surprise – he thought he knew all the fluent speakers on Earth, of which there were only a handful, and most of those were returning military. Few had bothered to learn from the text of his work, which had been sent via the superluminal communications link back to Earth. The accent wasn't perfect – there were strong overtones of something Slavic, perhaps Russian or Ukrainian – but he could not fault the intonation or phrasing. Perhaps the toning was just a little flat, but that was all.

"Have we met before?" he asked the petite dark haired woman politely, in English. He was sure that he knew her, but could not recollect where or when he would have encountered her. It was hard to judge her age – she had one of those hard Slavic faces, a face that looked as though she had suffered greatly, but would endure pain beyond all human understanding without breaking. He had seen the same face on countless Soviet-era statues depicting the Rodina, commemorating victory over the Nazis in the Great Patriotic War.

Despite the hardness of her face and the faint scarring that marred her left cheek, she was still undeniably attractive.

"Srane," she agreed, limping slightly as she eased into her seat before his desk. "Twelve years ago, in the Pandoran dome at Chernobyl. My name is Nadia Khudoshin."


	32. Chapter 32

"Good," said Sara. "I am pleased that you have returned. It is unfortunate when a Na'vi fails to return when asked, for it makes correction of injuries more difficult." She had been packing her smaller jars into a basket for carriage back to Kelutrel.

Zha'nelle had ducked her head under the fly of Sara's tent, a tentative expression on her face. "I thought it best," she said, and came fully into the tent.

Sara laughed merrily. "You are a woman," she said. "It is usually men that think they are immortal, and refuse to listen to good advice. Come, sit on my mat." It had been five days since she had first met the uniltìranyu woman.

The woman settled onto the mat with an easy motion, almost as though she was dropping into a comfortable armchair. Sara knelt behind her, and started checking the alignment of her spine, her skilled fingers relaxing the muscles of Zha'nelle's back at the same time. "Mìnkxetse is the brother of Tsawlontu," stated Zha'nelle, except it was not really a statement, but a question.

"Yes," agreed Sara. "He is a good man, a steady man, unlike my mate, his brother."

"Why has he not mated, then?" asked Zha'nelle, who then grunted as Sara pressed hard against a knotted muscle at the base of her neck.

"He has been waiting for the right woman," answered Sara.

"Oh," said Zha'nelle. It was difficult to say if it was an exclamation of surprise at the sudden release of a muscle, or as a reaction to Sara's response.

"Lie down," ordered Sara, so she could align Zha'nelle's bones. There was no conversation for several minutes, the only sound audible in the tent being the crunching of bones with the accompaniment of groans from Zha'nelle.

It was while Sara was carefully peeling the resin dressing off Zha'nelle's wound that the uniltìranyu woman spoke again. "He has asked me to go hunting for yerik tomorrow."

Sara smiled to herself. It appeared that Zha'nelle did not like to ask questions, so it seemed that Sara would have to ask the questions for her patient. "Do you dislike him?"

"No," said Zha'nelle.

"Then you should go with him," she advised. "If you do not spend time with the brother of my mate, how else can you discover if you like him?"

"This is good advice," admitted Zha'nelle, trying not to see what Sara was doing.

"The wound has healed well," said Sara. "You may sit up." She leant over to pick a small jar with a wax seal from her basket. "I want you to apply this lotion to the scar morning and night," she said, handing the jar to the woman. "It will make the scar tissue supple, and help the healing. If you do as I say, the scar will be almost invisible within a few weeks."

"Thank you, Kalinkey," said Zha'nelle.

* * *

Over the following months, Sara watched with quiet satisfaction the former uniltìranyu woman become part of the Omaticaya. She recalled her own journey down the same path, and was pleased that the woman seemed happy, although Zha'nelle was taking the path of the hunter, rather than her own of the healer.

It was obvious to all that Mìnkxetse and Zha'nelle would mate, and the entire clan was pleased for them. They were almost always in each other's company.

Zha'nelle often came to seek out Sara, and ask her to align her bones and ease her muscles. It was not surprising, really, for the uniltìranyu neglected such things, using their Avatar bodies as though they were machines rather than living bodies. Sara had to work diligently to right the accumulated wear and tear. While she did so, they talked about many things.

Sara particularly remembered the day before Zha'nelle was to climb Iknimaya, to claim her own ikran. "Mìnkxetse loves you, Zha'nelle," she said. Sara had wanted to say this to Zha'nelle for some time. "He will Choose you when you are accepted as an adult to the clan."

"I love him," Zha'nelle answered calmly. "I will say yes when he asks me."

Sara said happily, "That means we will become sisters."

"I never had a sister before," she said softly. When Sara's hands stopped moving on her back, Zha'nelle half-rolled over to gaze at Sara. Unshed tears were brimming in her eyes.

"I am proud to be your sister," said Sara, tears in her eyes also. "You will make my brother Mìnkxetse very happy."

After Zha'nelle left, Sara sought out Sylwanin. "There is something I wish to say."

"What is it, my love?" asked Sylwanin. She was re-fletching arrow shafts, a long and tedious task that took great care. A hunter often had to undertake this work, as the delicate fletchings that ensured an arrow flew true were often damaged in the hunt.

"I wish to ask Zha'nelle to join our tsumuke'awsiteng," said Sara. The solemnity of her words was not damaged by her flushing cheeks.

Sylwanin put the shaft she was examining down on the ground, and looked at her quizzically.

Sara started talking very quickly. "I like Zha'nelle very much. We talk together often, when she comes to see me for treatment. She will mate with the brother of Tsawlontu when he asks her – she has told me this. I do not want her to be lonely when he is not here, when he goes with my mate to do man-things together. Zha'nelle is a kind and thoughtful person, even though she was born tawtute. I know you like her too, for you often hunt with Tsawlontu, Mìnkxetse and Zha'nelle. You would not do this if you did not like her. There are only two in our tsumuke'awsiteng, not four as there should be, and we should have more, but I do not know anyone that I wish to invite other than Zha'nelle..."

"Wait!" interrupted Sylwanin, holding up one hand. "I hear you."

Sara's shoulders slumped, and she said in a crestfallen voice, "I am sorry. I should not have asked."

"Shhh," murmured Sylwanin, and drew Sara into an embrace to kiss her. "I have been meaning to ask you the same question, ma'Kalinkey."

"You have?" asked Sara, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Yes, my silly one," replied Sylwanin, and kissed her again. "I was worried that you would not wish to have Zha'nelle join with us in the circle, else I would have asked her weeks ago."

"But that is not logical," said Sara, seriously. "It would have done me no harm to ask."

"I know, my sister," replied Sylwanin. "I still worried that asking the question might have hurt you, made you feel that I did not love you. I cannot tell you that through tsahaylu, after all."

"You do not need to," replied Sara, and kissed her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng back.

Once Sylwanin could talk again, she said, "I will ask Zha'nelle to join with us after she passes through Iknimaya tomorrow."

"Promise?" asked Sara.

"Promise."

* * *

As it turned out, it was not until Zha'nelle was to undergo Uniltaron two days later that Sylwanin managed to keep her promise. As Zha'nelle had no family, Sara and Sylwanin had volunteered to anoint her for the rite.

Even then, it was difficult to gain some privacy. Sylwanin's younger sister Ney'tiri had insisted on being a brat and 'helping' Sylwanin and Sara prepare Zha'nelle. Sara had insisted that they use her healer's alcove to make her ready.

"Ney'tiri," said Sylwanin, "Would you go tell mother that Zha'nelle is almost ready?

"Srane," said her sister, and vanished from the alcove.

"So what is it you want to ask me, Sylwanin?" asked Zha'nelle, as soon as the soft footfalls of the young girl fell silent.

"Is it that obvious?" queried Sylwanin.

Zha'nelle laughed. "Both you and Kalinkey have been trying to corner me alone since Iknimaya."

"In four days, it will be time for Kalinkey to join with me in the rite of Uniluke," said Sylwanin. "We wish you to join us, as a sister of our tsumuke'awsiteng."

A moment of surprise flitted across Zha'nelle's face. She knew that the tsumuke'awsiteng was an important part of Na'vi life for women, but knew almost nothing of the details – except that it was a great mark of respect to be invited.

"Yes," affirmed Sara. "We wish you to become our sister, not only through your bond to the brother of my mate, but through the circle of sisterhood as well."

"I am honoured," started Zha'nelle.

Sara interrupted, "Good. I...we are glad you have agreed." She glanced at Sylwanin and smiled with pleasure.

"But I know nothing of the circle," objected Zha'nelle. It seemed that she had just agreed to...something...without knowing what she had agreed to.

Sylwanin smiled, "It will be our pleasure to teach you this secret women's business." Her ears swivelled, and her voice dropped, "Now, Zha'nelle, do not say anything of this. Ney'tiri returns – she is too young to be initiated into the mysteries of the tsumuke'awsiteng. Kalinkey, hold the bowl with the paint."

Ney'tiri bounced back into the healer's alcove, announcing, "Mother said to hurry up. Tsu'tey has finished his dream hunt. Zha'nelle must be ready now."

"A few minutes," said Sylwanin, applying the white paint with a feather-like touch, swift but sure. "Then Zha'nelle will be ready."

* * *

Sara pondered the news as she traced the numbers she had been recording on the cave wall. After Zha'nelle passed through Uniltaron, she had forgotten that she ever was a dreamwalker.

Perhaps forgotten was the wrong word.

As Zha'nelle explained it to Sara and Sylwanin as they drank tirea'tutee in the rite of Uniluke, her life as a tawtute had become as a dream, almost like it had happened to someone else, and she had heard a stranger tell a mysterious and terrible story. Instead, Zha'nelle felt that she had always been Na'vi, as though her people the Nēhiyaw had been a Na'vi clan that had dwindled and died. Only the five digits on her hands and feet showed that she had ever been a dreamwalker.

This was very strange to Sara. What purpose did Eywa have in changing Zha'nelle's memories?

A brief smile crossed Sara's face as she remembered the delirium of Uniluke, and the joy that both Sara and Sylwanin felt as they welcomed Zha'nelle into the tsumuke'awsiteng. A brief shiver ran down her spine as she thought of their next celebration, only three days away.

Biting her lip, Sara studied the numbers she had been recording over the years. Her data wasn't complete, but the numbers were deeply concerning – the frequency of starship visits, the number of shuttle flights, and the sightings of choppers. All this, and all the other data she had collected and recorded regarding the activities of the tawtute – she could see the numbers, drawing together in a convergence of meaning that she could not comprehend, except as a feeling of having the breath squeezed out of her lungs.

The 'Ìnglìsì words that Zha'nelle had uttered in the trance of Uniltaron spoke of coming war – war with the tawtute.

Sara had seen the aftermath of war in the ruins of Kiev. The tawtute did not fight for honour or glory, like the infrequent clashes between Na'vi clans over hunting grounds. They fought to crush, to exterminate their enemies, to slay without mercy, and their power was terrible.

The numbers said that something would happen, that the truce between the two races could not last in its current state. But war – would it come to that?

"Kalinkey, what do you do here?' asked a female voice from behind her.

"Zha'nelle!" cried Sara happily, her misgivings temporarily forgotten, turning around to greet her new sister. "Kaltxi." She moved quickly to embrace Zha'nelle, planting a kiss on her lips.

Laughing, Zha'nelle broke away from Sara's passionate greeting. "Do you wish for Uniluke now, my eager one, even without the tirea'tutee and kali'weya?" she teased. "Without Sylwanin?"

"If you wish," said Sara hotly, catching Zha'nelle around her waist and drawing her back into an embrace.

"Wait," said Zha'nelle, placing her index finger against Sara's lips. "Before I lie down with you, I would hear how you know the markings of the tawtute, the markings that record their speech. I have not heard that you attended the school of Grace Augustine." She frowned slightly, saying, "These are not the 'Ìnglìsì markings I know, although they seem like to them."

"They aren't," blushed Sara. "This is how some tawtute describe numbers."

Zha'nelle frowned. She knew how the tawtute wrote numbers, but she did not see anything like that here. Except...yes, she was right. About every two hundredth symbol could be an actual number, as the tawtute – at least the tawtute that she knew – wrote their numbers in 'Ìnglìsì. "I do not see many numbers," she observed doubtfully.

"No, no, no," said Sara enthusiastically, breaking her embrace and flourishing a four-fingered hand at the wall. "This is not numbers, this is describing how numbers can be used to tell a story about the world, about the invisible truth that underlies what we see and touch."

Sara did not notice the strange expression on Zha'nelle's face as she explained.

"Kalinkey, you have not explained how you know these...things," said Zha'nelle.

"Oh," responded Sara. "Um...You remember that you were a dreamwalker, even though it seems strange to you now."

"Yes," said Zha'nelle cautiously. Where was her sister going with this explanation?

Sara said, "You were not the first dreamwalker to become as one with the Omaticaya."

Now Zha'nelle really was confused. "There was another? Who was it? Did he teach you the numbers?"

Biting her lip nervously, Sara replied, "It was me. I was first."

"First?" asked Zha'nelle. "How can you be first? You have hands with the correct number of fingers."

It appeared that this explanation was going to be a little more difficult than Sara first thought. "I was the first uniltìranyu – the very first," she told Zha'nelle. "The machines did not work properly, and allowed me to choose to stay in this body always. Afterwards, the tawtute scientists changed the way they grew the dreamwalker bodies, so this could not happen again."

Zha'nelle's jaw dropped in surprise. Somehow she managed to say, "Is your name Sara?"

"Yes,"agreed Sara. "Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite, athough everyone calls me Kalinkey now, so the tawtute think that I am dead and will not take me away." She smiled shyly and said, "Sylwanin was the first to call me Kalinkey."

"That explains a lot," murmured Zha'nelle, almost to herself.

Sara's brows furrowed. "What does it explain?"

"Well, you are a little odd," commented Zha'nelle, with a twinkle in her eye. "More than a little, if the truth be told."

"Hey!" objected Sara, who then thumped Zha'nelle in her shoulder. "I am not odd. It's everyone else who is strange."

Zha'nelle rubbed her bruised shoulder, gazing at Sara with a speculative eye. Before she could say anything else, she wrestled Sara to the ground – with very little resistance – and proceeded to apologise for her gratuitous comment about oddness.

The apology was very warmly accepted by Sara.


	33. Chapter 33

Zhong steepled his hands as he sat behind the desk, watching the young woman seated opposite him, her back to the spectacular view of the city at dusk. The orange-pink glow of the sky after the sun sank below the horizon reminded him of the many spectacular sunsets he had seen on Pandora, while the brilliant lights of the city challenged the bioluminescence of the far-off world's forests.

He blinked once, and corrected his initial mental impression. She might have had the face of a young woman, but her eyes were old.

"Doctor Khudoshin, I understand you know Doctor Palmer," said Zhong, after a long period of silence.

"Please, call me Nadia," she smiled, signing as she spoke.

Zhong was not used to being wrong twice in as many breaths. He had never encountered eyes that had seen so much pain glow so warmly. It was quite unexpected.

"Of course," he replied, a slight smile turning one corner of his mouth up by at least one millimetre. It was as much expression as he would allow himself while he was working.

"In answer to your question, yes, I know Phred Palmer," she replied, her fingers flicking rapidly through an intricate series of signs. "I taught his foster daughter Sara self-defense with my father, before she left for Pandora."

"I've reviewed your personal file," he stated. "It's very impressive, especially given your history."

"Oh?" she asked. Her eyes suddenly went cold.

Interesting, thought Zhong. Doctor Khudoshin's psychological profile indicated that she was driven to succeed, refusing to accept her disabilities as barriers to any objective – the key word that the psych-tech had used was ruthless. He didn't place a great deal of reliance on such crude tools as profiles, preferring to use his own intuition and judgement when assessing people. In this case, however, it seemed that the profile was extremely accurate – at least from this perspective.

"You see, Doctor Khudoshin, I find myself conflicted," said Zhong. "On one hand, I have a limited number of slots for trainee Avatars, each one of which costs two hundred million dollars before it is loaded on to the starship. On the other hand, I find I have an outstanding candidate with a major problem."

He observed her hands flex slightly, as though they were about to clench into fists, and nodded to himself. This was the crucial moment, so he left a few empty seconds to see if she would step into the trap.

Zhong was not surprised when he saw Doctor Khudoshin tilt her head slightly and flick up an eyebrow, but did not say anything. She had passed this test.

"Of course, I am well aware of the provisions of the Anti-discrimination Act of 2129," amended Zhong. "It is not your medical condition that concerns me – despite your injuries you passed every test the RDA set, all with flying colours. It seems you have a little problem with your temper."

Nadia smiled thinly, a smile that did not touch her eyes. "I was never convicted," she shrugged. "All charges were dropped before they got to court."

"Three assault charges in the last twelve years," he mused. "Not to mention the quarterback whose athletic career you destroyed at Stanford. His throwing arm was never the same." When he saw her open her mouth to object, he added, "I know you were never charged."

"I will not be a victim," she stated calmly. "In each of these incidents, I did not start the fight."

"But you ended it," he commented.

Nadia replied, "Yes, I did."

They sat in the office in silence as the sky darkened into night. Eventually, Zhong stirred. "I am approving your application to enter the Avatar program, Nadia." He laughed, surprising himself. "I suspect it is the safest option for the RDA."

"Thank you, sir," she said, and stood. They shook hands – Zhong was surprised how small and slim her hand was, and she left the office, an almost imperceptible limp marring her graceful walk.

Zhong returned his attention to his monitor, adding the name of Doctor Nadia Khudoshin into the final slot in the Avatar program intake, just after that of Doctor Thomas Sully.

* * *

Life was good.

Actually, it was almost heart-breakingly perfect.

Sara loved her work, she loved her mate Tsawlontu, and she loved her sisters of the tsumuke'awsiteng, both Sylwanin and Zha'nelle. Life with the Omaticaya, as one of the clan, was wonderful.

However, almost perfect was not totally perfect. There was something that was not quite right.

She had been wondering for months what it was, until one day she found herself watching some of the young children playing before Kelutrel, pretending that they were ikran swooping on prey.

It was only then Sara realised that she wanted a child.

That night, she was lying in Tsawlontu's arms, listening to her mate breathe, when she said to him, "I was watching the children of the clan play today."

"I was wondering when you would bring this up," he rumbled quietly, his deep voice soothing. "You've been watching them for months, and sighing." Tsawlontu kissed the top of her head, and said, "In answer to the question you haven't asked, yes, I would like us to make a child."

"What if I make a mistake?" asked Sara. "I don't know anything about children. I might hurt him, or damage him."

Tsawlontu felt his mate's body stiffen as she spoke. He raised himself on one elbow, turning her face towards his with one finger under her chin. He was shocked to see fear and doubt across her sweet face. "Shhh," he whispered. "I have seen you with the children of the clan when they are sick, or hurt. You will make a wonderful mother."

He saw tears well in her eyes, as she said hesitatingly, "But I am not a real person. I don't feel real enough to do...to raise a child."

It was true that Sara was distressed – of that there was no doubt. Tsawlontu could feel her fingers flicking up and down as she silently counted – something Sara now did only when she was upset, or nervous.

"If you don't believe me, ma'Kalinkey, why don't you ask Sylwanin, or Zha'nelle when the crazy one returns with my brother from stalking palulukan, tomorrow," suggested Tsawlontu kindly.

Sara whispered, "I don't deserve you..."

"No, you don't," chuckled Tsawlontu. "Ow!"

His she-devil of a mate had just bit him.

* * *

Zha'nelle was still out watching palulukan with Mìnkxetse, and Sylwanin was nowhere to be found the next morning. Mo'at told Sara that her daughter had left at dawn, to speak with the dreamwalker woman Grace at the school.

"I will talk to her when she returns," said Sara.

The Tsahik asked, "Are you well, Kalinkey? You seem distracted."

"A little," replied Sara. "There is something I must ask my sisters."

"I'm sure they will return by midday," said Mo'at. "Even the insane Zha'nelle."

Sara smiled to herself. The entire clan thought Zha'nelle was crazy for her obsession with learning about palulukan. Everyone knew that to approach the fearsome predators was to ask to die. Somehow, she managed to get closer to palulukan and live than anyone ever had before.

"It will wait," commented Sara, and made the gesture of respect to the Tsahik, and returned to the healer's alcove.

There were no sick or injured this day. Sara ran her fingertips over her collection of jars and pots, tapping them lightly and listening to the sound they made. She stopped on a small pot that was dyed a purple colour. Someone had emptied her haw'naerftang berries. Sara picked up the jar, sniffed it and laughed. The subtle scent, the very familiar scent told her that Zha'nelle had emptied the jar. She really was addicted to the juice of the berries in hot water.

* * *

A couple of hours later Sara was deep in the forest, a basket slung over one shoulder along with her bow, picking ripe berries from a series of low bushes. Sara knew it wasn't far to the school – she had to circle around the strange tawtute building so she wasn't seen, but one of the best thickets of haw'naerftang bushes was close to the clearing where the kunsìp landed, bringing the tawtute and the uniltìranyu to the school.

The basket was half-full when two choppers flew overhead and landed in the clearing that the tawtute used to fly to and from the school. Sara froze. She was only forty metres away from the closest of the flying machines. Tawtute soldiers poured from the two choppers, and she slowly sank into the bushes, hiding in the dappled shadows of the forest

Somehow, something in the way that they moved showed that these tawtute were not friendly.

There were raised voices, as one of the tawtute was arguing with another. Sara covered her ears – she hated loud voices, even now, but she could not tear her eyes away. She watched with disbelief as one of the arguing men lifted his pistol and shot his opponent. Shot him twice, three times, emptying the gun into the tawtute, the vicious sounds of the shots echoing through the forest.

She whimpered softly once, and curled into a ball. The orderlies were here, they had come for her from 'Rrta, and Sara was back in the pale green room, waiting to be beaten, the soft light of the forest closing in about her. Nothing had changed.

A few minutes later there were more sounds, the rattle of automatic rifle fire, the roars of a hunting palulukan, the cry of a Na'vi warrior, and the brief screams of humans being torn apart. Sara did not hear them. No, that was wrong. It was not that she did not hear the noises, but that she refused to acknowledge that they even existed. If Sara could not hear the noise, then it wouldn't hurt when she was struck with the batons of the orderlies.

It was quiet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sara returned to the world. She lifted her head, and sniffed. There was the faint scent of cordite on the air, but more than that, Sara could smell the clan. All of them.

They were at the school.

The smell of blood and violence was hanging in the air. Sara shuddered, and fought to remain present. Eytukan was standing, holding the bloody body of his daughter in his arms. Mo'at leaned against her mate, the anger in her face contrasting with the tears on her cheeks.

Hesitating, Sara walked towards them, asking, "Sylwanin?"

The olo'eyktan said, "Tawtute came to this place to kill, and slew our daughter."

"I...I..."

Sara could say no more. Guilt crashed down into her soul. She saw the tawtute descend from the sky with hatred in their hearts – she could have stopped them, or at least tried to do something. Her fear, her weakness caused Sara to fail at the test, and Sylwanin had paid the price.

The Tsahik came to Sara and embraced her. "I know how much you loved Sylwanin, Kalinkey. You do not have to say anything."

* * *

Watching the body of her sister Sylwanin being lowered into the ground was not like laying her mother to rest. She had known that Lissa was dying, so Sara had time to prepare herself. This was like having a knife thrust into her belly.

The bravery of Zha'nelle in riding a palulukan – an outrageous feat in itself – and slaying the tawtute soldiers was spoken of in whispers amongst the clan, as was the courage with which Sylwanin faced her death.

Shame wore heavily upon Sara's shoulders, and her heart was chilled.

After Sylwanin was laid to rest, Zha'nelle saw the bleakness in Sara's face. She came to share her grief for the death of their sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, when Sara said, "It was my fault. My cowardice is the reason that she is dead."

Zha'nelle said, "Why do you say this, ma'Kalinkey? The tawtute soldiers came with death in their spirits. There was nothing you could have done to stop them."

"No," retorted Sara, showing her angst by flexing her hands convulsively. The sound of her name – the name that Sylwanin had given her – was a shock to her spirit. "I saw the tawtute come out of their flying machines. My fear of them was such that I hid, and did nothing. If I had called out..."

"If you had called out, then you also would have been dead," replied Zha'nelle, pulling Sara into an embrace. "Sylwanin too, and I would have no sisters, whereas I still have one."

"But..." objected Sara.

Zha'nelle smiled sadly, and kissed Sara gently on the lips. "You are no warrior, my love," she said. "All the clan knows of your purity of spirit, and your gentleness. That is why you are our healer, and not a warrior. The Omaticaya understand this, and love you for it. No-one expects you to have done anything else."

Sara's mouth twisted as she said, "I wished to talk to Sylwanin, to ask her if she thought I would make a good mother. Now I cannot ask this question, so I do not know if I should bear a child."

"I know what her answer would be," replied Zha'nelle. "Yes."

"But I cannot do this now," said Sara. "If I do, you will not be able to partake of Uniluke, and your belly will swell as will mine. It is not fair to you."

"I too wish for a child," said Zha'nelle, much to Sara's surprise. "Forgoing Uniluke when we both long for the same thing is not hardship."

"Oh," said Sara, unable to say anything else.

"If I bear a daughter," said Zha'nelle, "Her name will be Sylwanin."

"She would like that," replied Sara.


	34. Chapter 34

As her time grew closer, Sara became more and more nervous. She had delivered many children, and had seen at firsthand how difficult childbirth could be. Fortunately, Sara had never lost a child or a mother, although there had been some close calls.

Zha'nelle had surprised Sara by asking to be taught the craft of a healer, after the birth of her daughter Sylwanin. She had explained to Sara that she wanted to perform a task useful to the clan that did not require her to spend as much time away from Kelutrel. Seeing that Zha'nelle had just given birth, this seemed eminently logical to Sara, particularly given the bond Zha'nelle had formed with her new child.

Sara was also thankful for this opportunity to distract herself from her own forthcoming delivery. She started by teaching Zha'nelle the system she used to order the pots and crocks that contained her drugs, powders and potions.

"Why did you make it so complicated?" asked Zha'nelle wearily.

"Complicated?" retorted Sara. "It's simple. Each container is identified by the pitch and tone of the sound when you tap it. Additional harmonics also identify how full the container is, so I know when I have to get more without opening the container. Some of the compounds degrade quickly with exposure to air, so I want to minimise the number of times I open each one. Additionally, the size varies depending on the amount I tend to use, and some of them are even colour-coded if there are not enough discriminating waveforms in the classifying sound."

"But I don't see the underlying pattern you use to differentiate one drug from another," Zhan'elle griped. "I don't see why you couldn't just write the names of each drug on the jar."

"Arrrgh!" exclaimed Sara. "Are you totally stupid?"

"Stupid?" shouted Zha'nelle, her voice rising in volume to match Sara's. "I'll show you stupid!"

At that moment Tsawlontu appeared at the entrance to the healer's alcove. He was a little anxious that the two sisters might come to blows, and was determined to ensure that he would not be forced to avoid his brother to keep his mate happy, just because she was not talking to Zha'nelle. There were times when a male had to put his foot down, even to his mate. "Sara," he said pointedly, making sure that his mate was aware that he was using her tawtute name, underlining that he was not happy with the train of events that was unfolding. "I would prefer that you did not fight with the mate of my brother. Why do you not explain to her why you have chosen to sort your crocks, pots and jars in the manner that you do."

There was deathly silence for several seconds, and Tsawlontu was wondering if he overstepped the bounds. Again. He watched Sara's hands closely, wondering if they were going to make a sudden motion to grab a crock, ready to use as a weapon.

When he saw Sara's lips move silently, matched by the flicking of her fingers, he knew that she was counting again to control her anger. This was a good result as far as he was concerned – if she was counting, Sara was not throwing hard and heavy objects at his head.

"Of course, darling," Sara smiled sweetly – eventually.

Tsawlontu almost flinched. There were not going to be any crocks flying immediately, but he was not so sure about what would happen after Zha'nelle would return to Mìnkxetse, once the lesson was over.

Sara turned towards Zha'nelle and started – in a mix of English and Na'vi, as the words she wanted to use were not available to her otherwise – "The Na'vi are a pre-literate culture. I wished to use a system that did not require any student to learn how to read, so after much thought I determined the optimal solution, minimising any possibility of a healer misidentifying a drug. Avoiding stratification of Na'vi society based on literacy levels is not optimal from a sociological perspective."

"Oh," conceded Zha'nelle. " I had not thought of it like that, ma'Kalinkey." She sighed heavily – it seemed that she was doomed with having to learn this incredibly complex system.

"Are you two good, then?" asked Tsawlontu cautiously. He had not understood anything Sara had just said.

"I am almost always good," replied Sara. "From observation, I have generally noticed that Zha'nelle's behaviour is usually unexceptional also."

"Ah, yes. Of course," said Tsawlontu, nodding sagely – it seemed that his mate was in one of her terribly literal moods today. "I'll be going now, if you are both alright."

"What is wrong with him?" asked Zha'nelle curiously, after Tsawlontu made a speedy exit.

Sara frowned, "I don't know. Often he does or says strange things for no reason. I will never fully understand the male mind." She touched her swollen belly and smiled as she felt the child within move. "I wonder if this one will be as mysterious as Tsawlontu."

Zha'nelle laughed, "Only if he is a male."

* * *

"I am not going to let you touch any of the drugs again, Zha'nelle," said Sara in a tired voice. Her back hurt, and she was looking forward to finally giving birth in a few days. She just wanted it to be over. "Not after you gave Wokan what you thought was a headache cure. Ilyana almost had a fit – he spent the next two days staring at the backs of his hands without saying a single word. He didn't even flinch when Ilyana hit him. Can't you ever get the combinations and dosages right?"

Zha'nelle said in a small voice, "I'm sorry, Kalinkey. I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," retorted Sara. She could not see how someone as intelligent as Zha'nelle could make so many mistakes over what was so simple. "I'm not going to let you poison anyone again, so you can stay away from all the potions and powders."

"Even the haw'naerftang?" Zha'nelle asked anxiously.

Sara confirmed, "Even the haw'naerftang." She sighed despairingly. "I'll make it up for you – I don't think you can do any damage if I prepare the berries for you. But there will be no haw'naerftang for you until you stop breastfeeding Sylwanin. It isn't good for babies, even second-hand."

Zha'nelle nodded meekly. She really hadn't meant to mix up the powders again. It was just that she had been talking to Wokan's mate Ilyana about her new daughter when she picked up the wrong pottery jar. It had sounded just right to her, and it was even the right colour.

Sara sighed again. "At least you are making progress with easing muscles and aligning bones. If you stick with that I don't think even you can actually kill anyone."

What Sara didn't say was that Zha'nelle was a natural. She seemed to know instinctively how a body should feel, and could almost instantly diagnose any problems a Na'vi had with his bones or muscles. When Kalinkey had started teaching her, Zha'nelle already knew how all the muscles and bones were connected – and that was one of the hardest things to learn.

Tears brimmed in Zha'nelle's eyes, tears of shame. She had not wanted to disappoint her sister, not after the effort Sara had taken in trying to teach her. It was just...

"Oh!" said Sara, golden eyes opening wide. Her hands moved to her rounded belly.

"What is it?" asked Zha'nelle unnecessarily. It could be only one thing.

"Call Mo'at," said Sara. "It's my time."

* * *

So this was what it was like to beyond pain.

Sara was slipping in and out of consciousness. She had always been in this state, or so it seemed, where she was so tired that she could not remember her name. Even the numbers were gone.

Someone said, "Call in Tsawlontu, Zha'nelle. It is time for him to farewell his mate." Was it Mo'at who had spoken? Was she going to go somewhere – was that why Tsawlontu had to come and say good-bye? It was with those thoughts that Sara finally closed her eyes, and let the darkness take her.

Except it wasn't dark.

It wasn't light either. It was something else, something Sara couldn't describe.

"Sara, my child," said a voice that was not a voice. "You can't stay here."

Sara mumbled, "My name is Kalinkey."

"So it is," agreed the voice. "It is time for you to go back. Zha'nelle will help you. I have told her what to do."

She knew that voice. It felt like, it tasted like – no, it sounded like..."Lissa?"

Suddenly, the world started rushing towards her, and she landed with a thump in her body. Everything was sore, and Sara was so tired, but she still managed to complain, "I hurt." She opened her eyes and looked down to see a bloody child lying on her chest. She had birthed a son.

Sara blinked a couple of times, and smiled at her son. She glanced to one side, seeing Zha'nelle lying slumped by her side."What is wrong with Zha'nelle?" she asked the world.

Mo'at answered, "Zha'nelle cut your son from your womb, and saved your life. The effort exhausted her."

"Is she ok?" asked Sara. Or was her name really Kalinkey now? That was what she had said in her dream, wasn't it?

"She will be fine," advised the Tsahik. "You need to be concerned for your son. It is time to feed him for the first time."

Sara...no, Kalinkey took the child in her arms. Somehow, she knew what to do, without even asking – it was very strange. Usually she had to reason out every new action she took, but this one just came naturally. She attached her son to her breast, and felt him draw the milk down, the milk that would give him life.

As her son suckled, Kalinkey asked curiously, "I did not know that the Na'vi knew how to deliver a child via the Tsezarr'ean method, through cutting the child from the womb."

"We don't," said Mo'at. "It has never been done before. Is this common amongst the tawtute?"

"I think so," replied Kalinkey. This was the third time she had been first at something – the first Avatar, the first female drummer of the Omaticaya, and the first Na'vi to deliver a child via Tsezar'ean. Kalinkey was not sure that this was a good thing, to be first all the time – and then she realised she had been first in other things as well. Far too many things.

"What is your son's name?" asked Mo'at. It was traditional for the mother to name a child immediately after the birth.

"Stxeli'tstal," she replied. Perhaps she could avoid being first at other things, from now on.

"Gift of the knife," repeated Mo'at. "A most apt name."

* * *

"Hi," said Norm Spellman, smiling at the petite young woman walking down the corridor. She was a looker, he thought, and although he usually had zero success with women, the tall, gangly young man never gave up trying to be friendly any he encountered.

When the young woman brushed past the two young men without saying a word, Tom Sully commented, "What a bitch."

Nadia didn't really notice the two men in the corridor. She was too intent on making the appointment to check her compatibility with the first clump of cells that would become her Avatar. In any case, her total deafness meant that she didn't hear a word – her PDA armband had locked up that morning, so there were no alerts or machine translation of speech to tell her that someone was trying to speak to her. Not that she would have given a fuck anyway.

Zhong had told Nadia that due to her knowledge of Na'vi, and her experience under the Chernobyl dome – even though it was over a decade old, if her first Avatar clone was viable she could ship out on the next star ship – the _ISV Venture Star_ – as long as she aced the Pandoran familiarisation training. Nadia suspected that there was a lot more red tape around the program since Sara had been the first Avatar to ship out – although Sara was not a driver. She was the Avatar, unlike Nadia.

Nine months later after exceeding Zhong's expectations – but not hers – here she was, back in SoCal. All she had to do now was get the signoff for a viable Avatar, and complete the microgravity training at Edwards.

Otherwise she would have to wait another year before going to Pandora with the next Avatar class.

In the gene splicing laboratory, Nadia was given the good news. Her Avatar was viable, the head of the lab advising her that it was as good a match as he had ever seen.

Six flights in the Vomit Comet, and she would be on her way to Alpha Centauri A.

* * *

Like most of Nadia's Avatar training, she rushed through the Vomit Comet flights. She only had two weeks to complete them, if she was to make the embarkation date for the _Venture Star_. So she signed up to take the flights on six consecutive days.

As it turned out, despite the damage to her inner ear, Nadia loved microgravity. She did not get sick or queasy at all, and the first five flights whirled past, almost like a dream. It was wonderful – she was as graceful as she had been before the bomb, dancing through the fuselage of the Vomit Comet as though it was a stage. Not even the crushing weight of the g-force at the bottom of each parabola could suppress her pleasure.

There had been different people on every flight – usually, most people only signed up for one flight a week.

Nadia did not notice the two young men – Sully and Spellman – on her final flight.

"Hey, look," said Tom. "Isn't that the bitch who gave you the cold shoulder in the corridor last week?"

They were half-listening to the Vomit Comet safety briefing that they had heard many times before. Still, no briefing, no flight. Although they had completed their required flights, when two slots came vacant on this trip Sully and Spellman had grabbed the opportunity for one more flight.

After all, they would have no chance for playtime on the star ship. As soon as they got on board, they were scheduled for cool-down into cryo.

"I heard she was an Avatar driver," said Norm. "Apparently she is a friend of Doctor Palmer, and was rushed through the training program in nine months rather than three years that we took. The buzz is that Zhong approved her appointment as a favour to Palmer."

"Nepotism," growled Tom. "It stinks. What's her name?"

Norm replied, "Khudoshin. She's some kind of anthropologist."

"Shit," swore Tom. "She's not even a real scientist." He had little respect for what the hard-core called the soft sciences. He grinned, and said, "Why don't we have a little fun with her. Accidents can happen in microgravity, you know."

"I don't know," said Norm. "We could get into trouble."

"What can they do to us?" asked Tom. "The RDA has spent millions on our training. They aren't going to blow away that kind of investment over some minor hi-jinks."

Norm sighed. He knew that once Tom Sully got the bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him. "You're going to ignore anything I say, aren't you, Tom?" he said.

"Me?" asked Tom, doing his best impression of a puppy dog.

"Just don't expect me to dig you out of the shit," advised Norm.

* * *

Tom watched Nadia Khudoshin fly around the Vomit Comet like a bouncing ball, ricocheting off the side, roof and floor of the fuselage with the grace and style of a dancer. Tom Sully was jealous – he felt like a lumbering dinosaur in comparison, each movement feeling both clumsy and over-careful. When she flew past him, he made a grab for her shoulder, planning to slam her into the wall by swinging her about his centre of mass – after all, he had to be close to double her weight, as she was both petite and razor slim.

He really was as clumsy in microgravity as he thought he might be. Instead of grabbing her shoulder, he ended up with a fistful of hair. Much to his surprise, she was not swung around his body into the wall, continuing past him in a straight line, while he was left holding a wig in his left hand.

Nadia grabbed a handhold and spun around with unbelievable speed. She snarled, "'Ampi oe nìmun, nga terkup." After the first couple of parabolas, she had seen this idiot and his gangling friend had the blue ID badges signifying they were Avatar drivers, just like her, and so the Na'vi had rolled from her tongue without conscious thought.

The violent blackness in the young woman's eyes made Tom Sully recoil, almost in shock. He was left in no doubt that she meant every word she had said – that she would kill him without a moment's hesitation if he did so much as brush her with his fingertips. "I'm s-sorry," he stuttered. Her Na'vi was flawless – even better than the speech of Paklowski and Vitello, the married couple that had been instructing in the advanced Na'vi class.

But Tom couldn't take his eyes off her hairless scalp, the skin marred by ridges of keloid scars and a checkerboard pattern of grafts – let alone the black holes that were the only remnant of her ears.

Nadia snatched her wig back from his hand, and pushed off away from him, driving her feet against his chest. A few seconds later, she was crushed to the floor as the Vomit Comet pulled out of its dive. It was not until the next parabola that she managed to replace the wig over her scarred head.

She stayed at the other end of the fuselage from Sully for the rest of the flight, shaking with rage.


	35. Chapter 35

While Kalinkey was healing from her unconventional childbirth, Akwey resumed his role as clan healer, with much grumbling. He had become very content with his lot in life, going fishing with the other old men, and let everyone know that he was unhappy about this turn of events.

Many of the women of the clan came to see her, and wish her well, which surprised Kalinkey greatly. She had not realised that she was that popular amongst the Omaticaya. There was one downside, however. The women all wished to see her healing scar, and many touched the resin dressing over the wound with amazement.

At least they did not touch her skin. If they had done that, she would have screamed Kelutrel down – the only people she could bear to touch her bare skin were Tsawlontu, and Zha'nelle. Oh, and Stxeli'tstal, of course. She loved the way he reached for her all the time, as though she was the most important person in his world.

If only Sylwanin could have seen him.

When Kalinkey mentioned to Tsawlontu her surprise at her popularity, he replied, "I don't think it surprising at all, ma'Kalinkey. You have been healer to the Omaticaya for several years. Therefore, you have treated the sickness and injuries of almost all the children of the clan since that time. You are honoured and respected by their mothers for your skill and kindness, yes, and by the fathers as well."

Kalinkey looked up from watching her son wave his arms and legs helplessly in the air. "I had not thought of it like that," she said wonderingly, and smiled at her mate.

Tsawlontu's heart softened, and then almost instantly went cold. The Tsahik had told him how close Kalinkey had been to death. If it had not been for Zha'nelle, both Kalinkey and Stxeli'tstal would now be in the arms of Eywa. He tried to imagine his world without his mate, and could not. Tsawlontu did not wish to live in that world. He bent down to kiss her on the forehead, and murmured, "I love you."

Tears of happiness welled in her eyes as Kalinkey whispered back, "I love you."

* * *

Nadia had taken the first available transport back to the metro area from Edwards. She wanted to get as far away from that idiot Sully as she could. It was going to be bad enough that they would both be trapped in the base at Hell's Gate for years on end. It meant that she could not avoid having to be polite to him – not if she wasn't going to be shipped back to Earth on the next starship.

What was worst was that when she snatched the wig back from his hands, Nadia had seen the pity in his eyes. She had seen that same look in people's eyes since the bomb, and she never wanted to see it again.

Nadia was not some helpless victim. She would accept pity from no-one.

Especially not Tom Sully.

* * *

The ride back from Edwards was difficult – no, it was uncomfortable. Tom could feel the waves of disapproval emanating from Norm. He didn't have to say a word.

"Ok, you were right," he muttered awkwardly. "I'm an idiot."

"I wasn't going to tell you I told you so," said Norm. "But..."

"I told you so," finished Tom.

"I googled her bio while you were wallowing in wordless self-pity," said Norm. "Doctor Nadia Khudoshin is a distinguished anthropologist and linguist who just happens to be a survivor from Kiev. Her bio also says that not only is Doctor Khudoshin profoundly deaf, but she can speak and lip-read six different languages, not to mention sign language."

"Fuck," said Tom. There wasn't much else he could say. He had really fucked up - just like he had fucked it up with Jake when he came back from Venezuela. His irrepressible twin brother was now a twisted, bitter and angry cripple, thanks to the Marine Corps and a mine planted by some nameless Venezuelan insurgent. The last time Tom had seen his brother, Jake told him to fuck off, and not bother coming back.

"So what are you going to do about it, Sully?" asked Norm. "Hell's Gate isn't that big, and you are going to be spending six years locked up in a little box right next to Doctor Nadia Khudoshin, who I imagine hates your guts right now."

"I'm going to have to apologise, aren't I?" asked Tom rhetorically.

"I imagine so," replied Norm. "Although, my stupid and clumsy friend, I suspect she's not going to be the easiest person to say sorry to. I've never seen anyone look quite as pissed as Khudoshin did when you whipped the wig off her head."

Tom admitted, "I think if she had a gun in her hand, she would have blown my head off then and there."

"No great loss," observed Norm cheerily.

"Hey!" objected Tom.

* * *

Zhong had a really nice office, thought Nadia, not for the first time. The view over the megalopolis of SoCal was stunning, although the office itself was furnished with the bare essentials – all in exquisite good taste of course. She appreciated the care that had gone into the interior design, although the portrait of Chairman Mao was an odd touch.

When Nadia entered to see both Zhong and Phred Palmer waiting for her, she knew instantly why she had been summoned.

"I understand there was a minor incident on the microgravity training aircraft," observed Zhong. "One of the other Avatar drivers was suffering from an excess of youthful spirits."

"Tom Sully was the individual concerned," added Phred helpfully.

"Yes," agreed Zhong. "His exuberant action caused you some embarrassment."

Nadia nodded, not trusting herself to reply.

"We are a little concerned at the threat you made to him," said Zhong. "I realise only you, Doctor Sully and possibly Doctor Spellman would have been in a position to understand your excellent Na'vi, but given your history we are concerned that you might take some...let us say, take some unfortunate direct action."

Nadia replied slowly, accompanying every word with sign, "I give my word that I will not seek revenge upon Tom Sully. However, I cannot give my word that he will ever be my friend."

Zhong nodded. "That is good enough for me. Thank you for coming so promptly. I suggest you spend your last week on Earth saying goodbye to any friends that you may have."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, a little stiffly.

"Don't thank me," said Zhong coolly. "You should be thanking Doctor Palmer. If it had not been for his support regarding this matter, you would be off the Avatar program."

He made a gesture to indicate the interview was over. Nadia nodded once to Phred, and then got out of the office as quickly as she could.

* * *

There really weren't that many people that she wished to farewell. Nadia had not exactly accumulated friends since she had first come to SoCal.

She thought about sending a v-mail to Sara, but decided against it. Presumably, she would arrive on Pandora only a few months after the message got there. She would rather give Sara a surprise. Besides, Phred had been very evasive when she had asked him about Sara. There was something he was not telling her.

There was, of course, Yago. She had heard that he had been released from custody since the last attempt to convict him had failed. How the police ever expected to jail the man when no-one would testify against him, she did not know. Nadia owed the man big time – without his assistance, she might never have been able to complete her doctoral thesis. It would be only polite to bid him farewell.

Curiously enough, the edge of the Santa Clara barrio was within walking distance of RDA Central.

At least it was a warm day, she thought, as she removed her light jacket and threw it in a rubbish disposal. She had never liked the damn thing anyway, and had no idea why she bought it. Now she wouldn't have any trouble in the barrio, with her gang ink plain for all to see, rolling out from underneath her sleeveless top.

* * *

Tom Sully saw Nadia Khudoshin flit out of the immense foyer of RDA Central. He called out, "Hey, wait!" and then cursed himself as an idiot. The woman was profoundly deaf. No way could he attract her attention by yelling.

There was nothing else to do other than follow her.

It was only with the greatest luck that he managed to maintain visual contact with her through the crowds of swirling pedestrians, at least until they thinned out dramatically when she rounded a corner. Providence must have been with him. After that, it was easy, and he jogged after her to catch up.

* * *

Nadia walked up to the group of young men leaning against the wall of an alley. She recognised one of them as Ramón, one of Yago's crew.

"Hey Ramón, how come you're not in the big house?" she greeted him, signing as she spoke. "I thought you were a sick dude."

"Guys, look," drawled Ramón. "It's Deaf Dancer Bitch. Long time no see. How you doing, girl?"

"Good, real good," she replied. "I'm looking for Yago."

"Seeing it's you aksing, and not some blue patsy," he said, "You can find the man in his crib. You remember where it is, dontcha?"

"Sure," she replied, and made to leave.

"Not so fast," he objected. "I bin talking 'bout you to my homies. They don't believe how a little puta like you can beat the fucking crap out of four hombres, even with your kung fu shit."

"Taekkyon," she corrected automatically.

"Whatever," replied Ramón, waving a hand dismissively. "They want a demo." He grinned, adding, "Juz don't hit me."

She laughed back, and said, "Ok. I'm a little rusty though. No knives."

"Sure thing," he confirmed.

* * *

Tom had never ventured into this part of the city. Strangely, it was almost deserted, as though he had passed through an invisible border to another country. He rounded the corner of the alley that Nadia had taken, to see her surrounded by a group of five men. He was shocked when one of them swung a blow at her. A red mist clouded his eyes, and he ran towards the fight.

* * *

Nadia was surprised when one of her opponents wasn't where she thought he was. Instead, he was on the ground – she hadn't even hit him.

She was even more surprised when the fight stopped a few seconds later, and the gang members ran off, except for Ramón.

Her acquaintance was bending over, wiping his bloody butterfly knife on the shirtfront of a prone man. "Sorry, bitch," said Ramón. "Galahad here needed a lesson. Gotta fly." With those few words, he filched the wounded man's wallet, stood up and followed the others, disappearing into the maze that was the barrio.

She knelt by the man, applying pressure to the gaping wound in his chest with her left hand in an attempt to stem the bleeding. She told him, "I'll call for help." When Nadia looked at his face, she froze. Fuck, it was Tom Sully. She was in so much shit.

Nadia couldn't call the cops – they wouldn't come in the barrio except in patrols of twenty or more, and her gang ink was showing, clear as day. They would probably waste her, just on general principles. She hesitated for a moment, and then punched up RDA Sec-Ops on her PDA. She pressed the panic button, and was instantly rewarded with a view of a bored-looking operator. "What is it?" he asked, the text of his words scrolling across the PDA screen.

"I've got an Avatar driver bleeding out at this location," she said tightly. "Tom Sully. Knife wound under the rib cage."

"Got it," he said. "Two minutes." The call cut out instantly.

She looked back at Sully, and told him, "Don't die on me. Help is coming."

Sully's eyes were blinking rapidly, and his lips moved. She read, "Wanted to say sorry."

"You're forgiven," she told him. "Now live."

The operator had been as good as his word. Before Nadia knew it, she was being blasted by the down-draught of a chopper, and four ropes appeared around her. A second later, four heavily armed soldiers zipped down the lines from the chopper, surrounding her. Three instantly deployed to establisha perimeter, facing outwards, assault rifles at the ready. The fourth knelt by her – she couldn't see his lips. They were hidden by the mirrored glass of his visor. "I'm deaf," she shouted to him, tapping her ear with her right hand.

The soldier nodded, and inserted an IV in Sully's arm, before he flipped up his visor. "Keep pressure on the wound," he told her.

Nadia nodded tightly. "Got it," she replied.

"What happened?" he asked, as he pulled what looked like an aerosol off his belt.

"Sully saw me in a fight with five men, and ran in to help," she told him. "The idiot had no fucking idea he was in the barrio."

"Remove your hand," he ordered. Blood suddenly spurted into the air. He shoved the long nozzle of the aerosol in the wound. Foam filled the space, just as suddenly stopping the bleeding. "Those are gang colours," he noted, pointing his chin at her tattooed shoulder.

"Yes," she agreed. "Is he going to make it?"

"No," was the brutal answer. "Looks like a severed abdominal aorta." He ripped off Sully's shirt, quickly running electrodes from his belt and sticking them to the gory chest. "Clear," he ordered, stood and stepped back. Nadia did likewise. The body jumped, the air filling with the smell of ozone and burning flesh. "Must have been a fucking long blade," he commented. "He was fucked as soon as the bastard twisted the pigsticker and yanked it out. The poor sod didn't know he was dead."

The body jumped three more times, before the soldier said, "That's it. He's gone."

"Fuck," swore Nadia. She was in such deep shit.

A rope came slithering down from the hovering chopper. The soldier quickly slung the harness at the end under Sully's arms, and spoke something into his mike – Nadia did not see what he said, as his face was turned half away from her. The corpse rose smoothly into the air. He turned to Nadia. "You're coming with us."

It was not an invitation.

* * *

Nadia was cold. While in different circumstances, flying beneath a chopper like soap on a rope would have been a total blast, she had been chilled by the rush of air flowing through her blood-soaked clothing.

For the second time that day she was in Zhong's office, with both Zhong and Phred. "What happened?"asked Phred.

She briefly described the events that led to Sully's death. Zhong might have been a statue for all the emotion that he showed. Phred, on the other hand, looked in distress, his clasped hands twisting together.

"Did you know the assailant?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "A gang member called Ramón. He is part of Yago's crew." Nadia knew without being told that if she did not reveal everything she knew, she could kiss her position in the Avatar program good-bye.

"Have you got that?" asked Zhong finally, speaking for the first time, apparently addressing the air. Nadia did not hear the reply, but about fifteen seconds later he said, "Strike authorisation code little red book." He walked over to the window, gesturing Nadia to follow him.

She stood wordlessly by his side, while she watched a Scorpion gunship sweep out over the barrio. About thirty seconds later, Nadia saw it launch a missile. Unerringly, she watched it race unerringly for the building known in the barrio as Yago's crib.

A chill ran down Nadia's spine as she saw the weapon detonate, a small mushroom cloud rolling into the sky. She knew at any time of the day there would be in excess of fifty people in that building – men, women and children, sentenced to death because a thief had irritated the biggest multi-national corporation in the world. The RDA was no better than the terrorists that had planted the nuke in the centre of Kiev.

Zhong turned to Nadia to say, "The man you knew as Ramón was in that building. Transmissions from his cell were used to localise him."

Nadia could not speak. People that she knew, that she had drank with and laughed with, had just been rubbed out of existence, for no reason at all.

The expression of horror on Nadia's face was not a surprise to Zhong. He said quietly, "I think you should take the next shuttle into orbit, Doctor Khudoshin. There is a flight from Edwards at dawn tomorrow. Be on it. I would prefer that you not place yourself in any more...difficult situations."

In a daze, Nadia left the towering edifice that was RDA Central.

* * *

Zhong sighed. "It looks like I'll have to pull out form DD1840R again. Another two hundred million dollars flushed down the toilet. This will be very difficult to explain to the Finance Committee."

"Not necessarily," said Phred. "Tom Sully has a twin brother called Jake - an identical twin brother."


	36. Chapter 36

It was strange.

Although her clothes were stiff with dried blood, and she was surrounded by the numberless hordes of the megalopolis, no-one stopped to see if she was alright, or called the police, or did anything. They just minded their own business. Nadia could have been marooned in the middle of the desert as far as she was concerned, for all the attention she attracted.

In this, her return to her apartment was like her life since the bomb. She was alone.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Nadia removed her clothes, dropping them on the floor, and threw her wig on to the bed. She stepped into the closet that the landlord laughingly called the bathroom, and tapped on the shower controls. Steaming water, as hot as she could stand, poured over her, washing the blood away.

Nadia used her entire weekly ration of water, luxuriating in the unaccustomed indulgence, until the shower shut off with a ker-chunk rattling the pipes. It didn't matter. She was not returning to this place ever again.

She did not activate the blower to dry herself. Instead, she stood dripping wet before the mirror, watching her naked reflection appear as the glass cleared of fog. If she stood square on, Nadia could almost believe that she was whole. She slowly turned around, looking over her shoulder at the horror that was her back. The scars mocked her hope, the simple belief in the promise of an autistic girl that had driven her all these years and suppressed her pain - the hope that she could dare to be whole on a world other than Earth.

"No," said Nadia. "Pity is death."

The force with which she slammed the bathroom door shattered the mirror, glass shards falling to the floor.

There was no hesitation in her movements as she packed the single kit bag she was permitted to take on board the _Venture _Star with clothing, jamming it in as tightly as she could. Or rather Nadia did not hesitate until she pulled out her spare boots from the bottom of the closet. A pair of ballet slippers fell out, the ivory silk fabric slightly scorched and stained with blood. She picked them up, and lifted them to her face.

The faint scents of old sweat, of perfume, wax and dust washed over her, overlaid with the metallic smell of fire. These were the only possession she kept from before...from before. It was such a stupid name for an event that brought so much death and suffering – the bomb. She was lucky to have this memento of her old life, the life she was meant to live – you could still see the unmarked flesh on her left shoulder that had been protected from the flash by the leather strap of her carry bag that contained her shoes.

Before she could consider what she was doing, Nadia forced her feet into the slippers with a little difficulty – her feet had spread. The bindings cut cruelly into the scars on the back of her calves as she pulled them tight, drawing blood from the fragile skin. It did not matter – it was only pain, and she was well used to the agony of her burnt flesh and raw nerve endings.

Nadia did not attempt to rise to pointe. If she tried, Nadia knew well that her body would betray her, and she would stumble and fall. Instead, she closed her eyes, remembering what it had been like to dance, to move as though she had been an autumn leaf borne by the wind. "Soon," she promised herself. "Soon."

* * *

Kalinkey woke with a start. The dream had seemed so real, so vivid, that for a brief moment she thought she was Nadia.

"What is it?" asked Tsawlontu sleepily. He had been finding it difficult to sleep since he had become a father. Stxeli'tstal had an excellent set of lungs and vocal chords, and Kalinkey usually slept the sleep of the dead, leaving him to rock the child back to sleep. He did not begrudge this, as the scar that Kalinkey bore would take some time to heal. This time, however, it was not his son that had woken him.

"A dream," replied Kalinkey. "I dreamt that my friend is coming to this world."

"Na'dia?" queried Tsawlontu. His mate had often spoken of this tawtute woman.

"Yes," said Kalinkey. "She was remembering."

Tsawlontu grunted in acknowledgement. That did not seem a threatening kind of dream to him. He drew his mate into his arms, and whispered, "I've got you safe. Go back to sleep."

He felt Kalinkey smile in the darkness and wriggle deeper into his embrace, until her breathing slowed again. Now all he had to do was to fall asleep himself.

* * *

The loadmaster glared at Nadia. "The instructions said one item of personal luggage, not two," he growled. Nadia's second piece of luggage was a long plastic case that she had made to order.

"I have authorisation from Doctor Palmer," she said coolly. The signs that she made while she talked added some uncomplimentary epithets regarding the loadmaster's competence. "Why don't you check your manifest?"

"Just a moment," replied the loadmaster. He flipped through screens on his data tablet, until he stopped on a screen and read. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. It was unlike him to miss stuff like this. He looked back at Nadia and asked, "Open it up. I need to know what's in it, so I can store it correctly."

Nadia applied her thumb to her biometric reader on the case. It clicked, and the lid cracked open.

"Holy fuck," said the loadmaster, after he opened the case. Inside were two swords, designed for hands much larger than human, packed into foam. He reached out to touch the edge of one of the blades.

"Don't do that," warned Nadia. "You'll lose a finger. The edges are very sharp – you won't even feel the cut."

"What are they?" he asked. It was clear that he was itching to touch them.

"Shortswords," she replied. "Titanium alloy."

"If they are shortswords, then I'm a fucking midget," he commented. The blades were a little under five feet long.

Nadia smiled thinly. "They were made for my Avatar, not for human use."

"Fair enough," said the loadmaster, closing the container and snibbing the lock.

* * *

There was a tall figure blocking the door to the loadmaster's office. Nadia looked up into the grieving face of Doctor Norm Spellman. "I'm sorry about your friend," she told him. "He did not deserve to die. I did my best, but it was not good enough."

Doctor Spellman looked puzzled. "You were there when Tom died?" he asked, his tone riddled with disbelief.

"Yes," she replied. "He died trying to save me, when I did not need saving."

Norm's face twisted into a half-smile. "That sounds like Tom. Always rushing in where fools fear to tread."

"I have to go," said Nadia. "I have to prep for my shuttle flight."

As she brushed past the young scientist, he wished her good luck, but Khudoshin did not hear him. She was deaf, after all. Through this exchange of a few words, Norm realised that the impression she gave of being a cold bitch was completely off-target. Oh, he had no doubt that she was a bitch, and that she was ruthless as all hell, but one thing she was not was cold. Khudoshin had nothing to gain by saying a few words of comfort to him, but she did it anyway.

* * *

It had been a surprise to encounter Spellman. Nadia hoped that she would not receive any more surprises, at least until she arrived at Hell's Gate.

Unfortunately, her wish was not granted. When she rounded a corner in an apparently endless corridor, she was faced with a man in a wheelchair, framed by two corporate suits. She stopped dead, and she whispered, "Sully?"

She had last seen that face in a grimy SoCal alley, its features slack in the rest of the long sleep.

Nadia swallowed nervously once, and then realised it was not the same face as Tom Sully's. Oh, it had all the same features arranged in the same fashion, but there was a fundamental difference. Tom Sully's face was that of a boy, or a youth, unmarked by the trials and tribulations of a cruel world.

This face – this face was the face of a man, a man who had been tested on the anvil of life, a man who had been damaged but was still unbroken.

* * *

Jake Sully used his hands to slow the wheels of his chair, stopping before the petite woman who clearly recognised his features – or rather Tom's. She had an interesting face, a face that had seen much and undergone much suffering, but was still defiantly unbroken. Before he could say anything to her she spoke, her hands moving in sign language as her words flowed.

"You're not Tom Sully," she stated. Her English was strongly accented, something Slavic, like Russian or Ukrainian.

He smiled thinly. This woman was admirably direct. "No, I am his twin brother, Jake."

She cocked her head to one side, studying Jake as though he was a biological specimen. "You have come to use his Avatar," she said, "Now he is dead."

Jake could not help but chuckle. This woman was two for two, so he replied, "Yes."

The woman nodded once. "I too am an Avatar driver. The next time we meet, we shall be on another world." She made an odd gesture to him, and said in a strange language, "Eywa ngahu."

Jake blinked once, and then she was gone, brushing past him as though he was not there.

"Who the hell was that?" he asked the air.

One of the suits answered his question. "Doctor Nadia Khudoshin."

* * *

Nadia did not enjoy the ride into orbit. The g-force crushed her into her seat, brutally compressing the raw nerves of her skin. She could not help screaming once in agony, but no-one heard her over the thunderous roar of the SCRAMjet engines, and the gleeful shouts of the other passengers.

The waves of pain were too much to bear – Nadia slipped into unconsciousness. An indeterminate time later, she blinked twice and her vision cleared to see the face of the loadmaster over her. Everything hurt.

"You're a cool customer," said the loadmaster.

"What?" she said.

"Only a few of the old hands manage to sleep through a launch," he commented admiringly. "Are you ok?"

She hit the quick release of her seat restraints, floating a little way away from her seat. "A little sore," she admitted. It was a blessed relief not to have her back pressing against the seat.

"You'll soon get over the bruises," he advised. "Exit through the top airlock, and follow the signs to Cryo Module One. One of the orderlies will pop you in your casket and cool you down."

"Thanks," she told him.

There was a cluster of people around an observation window, jostling for position in order to catch a glimpse of Earth. Nadia did not join them – she had no wish to see Earth ever again.

A female orderly greeted her, and helped her change into the scrubs for cryo. Nadia was relieved that the woman made no comment on her scars, at least until she started to search for undamaged skin to insert the IV for the cryo drugs.

"Kiev?" asked the woman.

Nadia agreed, "Yes."

"You're not the first survivor I've seen," said the woman in a strong Polish accent. "I was a trainee nurse then, working in a burns unit in Krakow. We received many evacuees after Kiev." She smiled reassuringly at Nadia, who could not help smiling back at the friendly face. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt."

She could not help but flinch when the nurse slid the IV needles in to her right arm, biting her lip to stop from crying out.

"Sorry,"" said the nurse, locking the IV bracelet around Nadia's arm.

"No, it's ok," replied Nadia. "I should be used to it after all this time." She pulled off her wig, ignoring the nurse's gasp of horror and asked, "I forgot to take this off. Could you put it in my locker with my clothes?"

"Right after I cool you down," promised the nurse, suppressing a shudder.

The other couch in the cryo unit was already occupied, so Nadia didn't have to wait. The last thought she had as the module closed shut was a brief hope that her five year sleep would be dreamless.

* * *

Kalinkey smiled in her sleep, secure in the arms of Tsawlontu. Nadia was finally coming home.


	37. Chapter 37

Akwey smiled at Kalinkey the first day she returned to her duties as clan healer, her son clasped to her breast in a nivi. "It is good to see you looking so well, Kalinkey," he said. It was one of the few times she had ever seen the old man smile. "How is your son?"

Kalinkey snorted in derision. "He eats, he sleeps, and he shits. Then, when I think he is nothing but a fungal growth at my breast, he smiles and gurgles at me, and my heart melts with joy."

"It is Eywa's way of ensuring that a mother cares for her child," commented Akwey. "Come, let me examine your scar."

Kalinkey removed Stxeli'tstal from the nivi and lowered him to the floor, placing him on the treatment rug. As she removed her loincloth and reclined on the rug next to her son, Kalinkey said, "I will have to ask one of the weavers to make me a rug for Stxeli'tstal, to use in this place."

"A good idea," agreed the old man. "Ilyana is a good weaver, even though she is the daughter of my sister, who could not weave to save her life. You should ask her." Akwey bent over her torso, humming as he examined the scar. "Zha'nelle does very neat needlework," he commented. "In another six months this scar will be almost invisible. Have you been using tsawlapx leaf lotion to keep the skin supple?"

"Yes. No," she said immediately, contradicting herself, and blushing. "Tsawlontu applies it on my skin, morning and night. He makes a game of it."

Akwey chuckled. "The lotion is very good for stretch marks also. You may replace your garment now." While she was replacing her loincloth, he added, "Many of the clan have been surprised how strong a mated pair Tsawlontu and you have made. Your mate was not known for being a steady youth."

"Tsawlontu is very affectionate," she said, blushing again. "Especially after we fight, and we make up."

"You wouldn't happen to fight with Tsawlontu just to make sure he stays loving?" queried Akwey slyly.

"I might," conceded Kalinkey, blushing even more.

The old man roared with laughter, and shook his head in disbelief.

* * *

Over the next few years, Stxeli'tstal grew like a weed. Before Kalinkey could credit it, he was crawling, then walking, and then running. However, he was a very biddable and well-behaved child – unlike Zhan'nelle's daughter Sylwanin. If ever her son was naughty, or got into trouble, it was always at the prompting of Sylwanin.

It was probably just as well that Stxeli'tstal was so good most of the time. Kalinkey would never have been able to discipline him – she just did not know what to do. Instead, the few times this needed to occur, Tsawlontu was the one to discipline him.

As far as Kalinkey could work out, this involved Tsawlontu taking Stxeli'tstal aside, and having a long serious talk to him, which then was invariably followed by father and son going fishing. Afterwards, Stxeli'tstal always seemed very happy, as he would not misbehave for months – especially if he managed to avoid the clutches of Sylwanin.

Just what was it about males and fishing?

Most of the time Stxeli'tstal was a very serious little boy, given to watching the adults of the clan working. Kalinkey worried that he did not play enough, especially with the other children – except for Sylwanin. She knew that children with autism had difficulty socialising with others of the same age, and worried that her son had inherited her affliction. She did not want Stxeli'tstal to go through the troubles that she suffered.

When she told this to Tsawlontu, he told her not to worry. The Na'vi were not tawtute, and if Stxeli'tstal truly was an innocent, the clan would cherish and love him just as Kalinkey did. Still, she was worried enough to talk to Mo'at about this matter.

The Tsahik just smiled, and told Kalinkey the same thing that Tsawlontu had said. However, she added that boys were often slower to develop than girls, and that this was not unusual. Mo'at added that once his voice started cracking, and he started growing rapidly in height, Kalinkey might remember this time with longing.

Even this did not reassure Kalinkey. The following day, she took a basket to her cave, and collected all her wooden blocks – the wooden blocks that were the only thing she retained from when she was tawtute. It took two trips to bring them all back to Kelutrel – she had forgotten how many of them there were.

It did not strike Kalinkey how strange this was – before she became a parent, numbers had been the most important things in her world. The number of blocks she possessed would have been as important to her as the value of _pi_, or even that of _e_.

"Stxeli'tstal," she said to her son. "I have something for you."

"What is it, sa'nu?" he asked, turning towards her.

This was something that amazed her. How did a child learn to talk, just by listening? She had given him no rules or algorithms, none of the rules of grammar and syntax t o guide him – Stxeli'tstal had just learned, without being told.

"These are my plox," she told her son, with a little catch in her throat. She was giving up her wooden blocks to someone else! What was wrong with her? "I used to play with them. I want you to have them now."

Her son's eyes grew rounder as he studied the blocks with a serious expression on his face. "There are very many of them," he said wonderingly. He picked one up and examined it closely, turning it over slowly so he could study the pictures on each side of the block.

"You have to promise me that after you finished playing with them each day, you will put them away," said Kalinkey. "I don't want your father stepping on one, and rolling his ankle. If that happens, he will not be able to take you fishing."

"No, sa'nu," said Stxeli'tstal with an expression of almost shock, that something he did could hurt his father. He looked up from his examination of the block, and said very seriously, "I promise to put them away." Stxeli'tstal then smiled at her, "Thank you very much, sa'nu."

The thread of jealousy within her spirit from seeing Stxeli'tstal playing with_ her _blocks was blown away by his sweet smile, her heart melting with joy. Kalinkey was so happy watching her son play with her blocks that she did not even jump when a pair of very muscular arms slid around her waist.

"I would not want to step on a plox and roll my ankle, either," whispered Tsawlontu. "Not only could I not take our son fishing, it would mean that I could not carry you off and make love to you deep in the forest. Thank you for thinking of me."

She leaned back into his embrace and wriggled a little, making him growl softly. "Perhaps you could carry me away now," she whispered back. "I could ask Zha'nelle to keep an eye on Stxeli'tstal."

"Already done," murmured Tsawlontu.

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," she said softly, and then shrieked as Tsawlontu tossed her over his shoulder.

Stxeli'tstal looked up and watched his father carry his laughing mother away. He shook his head once, thinking he would never understand adults. His mother's blocks, on the other hand, were much easier to comprehend. He settled down to the serious business of counting them. After all, if he didn't know how many there were, how could he ever be sure that he put them all away?

* * *

Kalinkey's concerns about her son were never realised.

As the custodian of her wooden blocks, Stxeli'tstal became very popular on rainy days, all the young children of the clan asking to play with the wooden blocks. When he was asked who owned the blocks, Stxeli'tstal always said they belonged to Kalinkey, his mother.

Very quickly, they became known as kalinkey'plox.

Kalinkey became used to seeing six or eight young children in the healer's alcove, occupying the rug that Ilyana wove, quietly playing the game of kalinkey'plox.

However, what made Kalinkey really happy was what happened on sunny days. The same group of six or eight children played games such as ikran flight and 'angitsa hunt, and Stxeli'tstal was in the middle of the group, yelling and shouting with the other children.

* * *

A few months after the game of kalinkey'plox became popular was a difficult time for Kalinkey. Suddenly, Akwey started to lose weight. Zha'nelle took over as much of the load of the clan healer as she could, while Kalinkey nursed the old man.

"You know as well as I that it is the wasting disease," grumbled Akwey after a month of nursing. "There is nothing that you can do, Kalinkey."

Kalinkey swallowed. She knew that the old healer was right. The growth within him would consume his flesh and organs, while he wasted away into a living skeleton, racked by pain. All she could do was to give him the drugs that took away pain and befuddled the mind.

"I will be taking the same path as your sa'nok, Lissa," said Akwey calmly.

Tears welled in her eyes. Kalinkey did not want the old man to die.

Akwey took her hands between his bony hands, and said, "Do not be sad, my child. I have had a good life, and soon I go to Eywa, to be with my love Txilte."

"You are dear to me, my teacher," she said reluctantly. "I do not wish you to go."

He sighed. "It is my time. You would not wish me to suffer a terrible death, by keeping me beyond that time."

"No," she admitted sadly.

"There is another thing I must ask of you," he told her.

A feeling of dread filled Kalinkey's heart.

"My only living relative is Ilyana, the daughter of my sister. Although I admit she is a good weaver, we do not like each other," he said. "Instead, I think of you, my child, as the daughter I never had. It is customary for one who is close to grant the blow of grace. I would ask you to grant me this boon."

* * *

There were not many people beneath the Tree of Souls.

Akwey did not care to have the entire clan there to see his passing. Instead, the only people that came for him were the old men of the clan, the ones with whom he fished, the olo'eyktan, and the Tsahik, who came to see that this thing was done properly, according to custom, and her daughter Ney'tiri.

"Akwey, who do you wish to ease your path into the arms of Eywa?" called out Mo'at.

"I would ask Sara te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite, who is known to all Omaticaya and loved as Kalinkey, to grant me this precious gift, the gift of a good death," said Akwey in a thin, reedy voice. His queue was already linked to the roots of the Tree of Souls.

"Kalinkey, are you willing to do this thing?" demanded Mo'at.

This was the moment that had been terrifying Kalinkey. Once she agreed, there was no backing out – it was the height of dishonour to refused to grant the blow of grace after agreeing. Any who did so would be ostracised from the clan. Her voice shook a little as she answered, "I am willing."

"Who speaks for the life of Akwey?" asked Mo'at.

One of the old men stood and began a chant, speaking of Akwey, how he was a vigorous youth who grew to become a great hunter, a great hunter who attracted the eye of a beautiful maiden called Txilte. He spoke of the tragedy of Txilte's death, and how this shattered Akwey for a time. Despite his pain, Akwey did not despair. Instead, he changed his life, and became a healer, one of the greatest healers of the Omaticaya – a healer who hid his love for the people of the clan by pretending to be gruff and angry.

The chant told of how in his old age Akwey loved to fish with the friends of his youth, telling old tales and older jokes, although few fish were caught.

The old man related how Akwey taught a stranger to the clan, and came to love her as a daughter. By doing so, he gave a great gift to the Omaticaya, passing his knowledge and skill onto the next generation.

When the chant finished, Kalinkey was weeping.

"Do any here gainsay that this man led a good life in the service of the clan?" asked Mo'at, her rich voice rolling through the place that was Vitraya Ramunong.

The only answer was the muted noise of the night-time forest.

"Then it is time," announced Mo'at.

One by one, the old men went to Akwey, and quietly exchanged a few words. Kalinkey was surprised that some of them laughed softly with Akwey, although all of them had suspiciously bright eyes when they turned away from their friend.

When the last of them was finished, Mo'at nodded to Kalinkey.

"Well, my child, here we are," Akwey said to Kalinkey when she came up to where he rested, beneath the Tree of Souls.

"Yes, here we are," she echoed.

Akwey smiled at her, and brushed away the tears staining her face. "Thank you for the most joyful time in my life," he said.

"Joyful?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "To teach you was to see a flower grow and blossom, a bloom that I tended for Eywa. She meant for you to be a healer. That was why she brought you to me."

"I loved being taught by you," she told him, her voice thick.

Akwey coughed, holding his hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, Kalinkey saw his palm was stained with blood. "I think she is suggesting that I should stop talking and hurry up," he commented wryly.

Kalinkey almost smiled at his sally, but the instant of happiness slipped away before it could form.

"Can you do this?" he asked softly. She nodded once. "Then, I am ready."

Kneeling by him, she bent over, kissed him on the forehead, and caressed his cheek. While she was doing this, she drew her knife with her right hand. "Eywa ngahu, ma'sempul," she whispered.

Akwey repeated, "Eywa ngahu, ma'ite," and then he smiled.

The razor sharp knife slid smoothly under the old healer's rib cage, seeking his heart. Kalinkey tried not to shudder when she felt each beat of Akwey's heart through the hilt of her knife. She gave the blade a quick twist, leaving it there until his heart stilled, and the last breath left his lungs. It was only then that Kalinkey withdrew the knife – she did not want to pour his heart's blood over the platform of Vitraya Ramunong.

After she sheathed her knife, and closed his eyes, she saw that Akwey's face was still smiling. She murmured the words, the words that one said for the dead. "Oeru txoa livu, ma oeyä sempul. Hu nawma sa'nok tivul ngeyä tirea. Oeru txoa livu, Akwey."

It was hard placing the shell of Akwey into the ground, as hard as it had been when she had carried Lissa to her grave, as hard as watching her sister Sylwanin being lowered into the earth.

Zha'nelle, Tsawlontu and Mìnkxetse were there, they were there for Kalinkey. While the old men were casting earth over the body of their friend, all three held the weeping Kalinkey close, trying to give her comfort.

"My father, he is gone," she whispered.

"No, he is not gone," said Tsawlontu. "He is at peace with Eywa."

Kalinkey did not speak during the journey back to Kelutrel. Tsawlontu was concerned, worried that she would withdraw into herself. He knew how hard it had been for her to grant the blow of grace to Akwey. Mo'at saw the worry on his furrowed brow, and told him not to push Kalinkey - she needed a little time to heal.

* * *

It was dawn when they came to Kelutrel, tired and hungry.

However, Kalinkey did not seek food or bed. Instead, she went to her chey to retrieve her drumming sticks, and then stood silently before the great drums of the Omaticaya.

As the clan woke and came down from their sleeping places, they saw Kalinkey standing there, sticks in hand. It was clear that she was going to drum – she drummed but infrequently, although all the Omaticaya recognised that she made the drums come alive as no other drummer could.

Despite all the clan being there, no-one saw her begin to drum. Instead, where there had been silence, now there was the throbbing of the drums. It was clear to all what she was making the drums sing – how a stranger found her father and grew to love him, and then the pain she felt when he left her to rest in the arms of Eywa.

Others brought the small drums, the rattles and the flutes, and they played a wistful, sad tune to help Kalinkey through her anguish.

Afterwards, when the music stopped, Kalinkey spoke to Tsawlontu. "Do not leave this world before me, my darling Tsawlontu," she pleaded. "I could not bear it, being alone."

"I will try to do as you ask," he said, and kissed her.

Kalinkey gave no answer, merely holding on tightly to her life-mate.

* * *

It was exactly a year to the day after the death of Akwey that the uniltìranyu Zhake'soolly first came to the Omaticaya.


	38. Chapter 38

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded the decanting room technician of the Avatar driver.

"Stretching," said Nadia, sitting on the decanting room floor. She had wordlessly followed his instructions during the Avatar familiarisation tests, passing every one perfectly. Nadia wanted to know what her new body really could do – not what the techs thought she could do.

Her legs spread wide, Nadia stretched over each leg, lowering her forehead to touch both ankles in turn. The clean pain of her hamstrings lengthening and releasing was a joy, nothing like the raw agony she felt in her human body.

"You're not supposed to be able to do that!" exclaimed the tech, fluttering his hands in the air in distress. "It's not within the standard operating parameters."

Nadia smiled faintly. "I asked the Avatar gestation tank team to modify the transit training program to emphasize flexibility," she replied, signing as she spoke. It was odd being able to hear herself speak. "The modified program was based on the physical training required for classical dancers. I am sure they will be interested in the results." She rose smoothly to her feet, perfectly balanced. A faint shiver of joy rippled down her spine – Nadia had not moved like this since...she would not think about that, not now.

"Your personal effects are..." started the tech, but Nadia was already casting off her hospital gown, causing the male tech to look away in embarrassment. She had coded up her preferences for clothing before she left Earth, and she was interested to see what the stereolithography plant could produce. The crop top and shorts were unadorned black, and perfect – she puzzled a little how to guide her tail through the hole in the shorts, but they were easy enough to put on.

"Fuck!" she swore, looking at the container for her shortswords. She had forgotten to unlock them with her human thumbprint before linking up. Suddenly, she began to laugh. The container was meant to be proof against human efforts to gain access, and she would never need it again. "Kiya!" she shouted, her clenched fist striking the lock, smashing it into a dozen pieces.

Nadia did not notice that the tech had retreated to the furthest corner of the decanting room. The snarling expression he saw on her face as she broke the lock was one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen.

It took a little while to adjust the leather harness so it rested comfortably on her back. Once that was right, Nadia took her blades by the hilts, and smoothly slid them into their scabbards. Now she was ready to go outside.

Nadia walked out of the decanting room, swords riding in the harness resting on her back, driving her Avatar on the surface of Pandora for the first time.

Driving was such an inadequate word.

* * *

Outside, there appeared to be Avatars everywhere, playing one-on-one basketball, tackling a confidence course, tending plants, or just standing around talking. It seemed that they were all taller than her by at around a foot.

Nadia sighed. It would have been nice to be tall. She had been short all her life, so at least having a short Avatar was consistent. Then again, she was almost double the height of her human body – although everything about her was scaled to what the grunts here called smurfs.

No-one took any notice of her when she found a piece of empty ground, the short grass caressing her bare feet. Nadia closed her eyes, feeling her place in the world as she breathed in an out. She was acutely aware of every piece of her body – the curling of her fingers, the tilt of her head, and each twitch of her tail. It was time.

The blades hissed out of the scabbards as she began her sword katas, still with her eyes shut.

It was perfect.

* * *

"Look at that!" exclaimed Chandrasekhar, his English accent so prominent it could have cut glass. An unfamiliar female Avatar was doing some slow tai-chi kung-fu shit with swords. Not only that, she was good – better than good.

Martinez turned to face where his friend and colleague was pointing. "Holy crap!" he murmured. The woman had to be the hottest ever Avatar he had ever seen. She just oozed sex with every movement, like some viddy star in a swords and sandals fantasy epic. "Who the fuck is it?"

Chandrasekhar answered, "It has to be Khudoshin. There was only one bint in the Avatar intake on the _Venture Star_."

"If she moves like that out here," growled the xeno-entomologist, his Hispanic blood boiling, "I have to see how she moves between the sheets."

"In your dreams," started Chandrasekhar, but Martinez wasn't listening as he strode towards the woman. It was only then that he realised she was the smallest Avatar he had ever seen. What the hell – it wasn't the smurf he wanted to screw, it was the woman in the link unit driving it. Besides, everyone was the same height lying down.

"Hey babe," he called out. "Wanna have some coffee when you unlink?"

* * *

The words directed at her disturbed Nadia's reverie. Fuck. Some guy who thought he was hot stuff was trying to pick her up, only five minutes into her first time out.

Nadia lowered her swords and opened her eyes, facing the man who had called out to her. "Excuse me?" she asked coolly. "Are you talking to me?"

"Sure thing," responded Martinez, thinking that women with Russian accents were so fucking hot – never mind that she was actually Ukrainian.

Nadia smiled sweetly. "Not a chance," she replied.

Chandrasekhar drew alongside his colleague. "Give it over, José. Doctor Khudoshin has your number."

"I'm sure she'd rather play with me than those swords," grinned Martinez. "An M60 will shit all over a set of kitchen knives next time I come across a slinger."

"Play?" Nadia's left eyebrow rose in concert with the incredulous note of her voice. This was not play.

"José, you're being a shite again," warned Chandrasekhar. His research partner could be an absolute pain in the butt sometimes, especially around women. "Remember what happened in the bar at Baikonur."

Nadia sheathed her blades with a simple, economical movement. "So you think a gun is better than a blade."

Martinez snorted, "No contest."

"Throw that fruit at me," said Nadia. She gestured with her chin at a small bush to the left of Martinez.

"Forget it," he snorted in derision. "It's no challenge - you're ready for it."

Shrugging, Nadia retorted, "I'll shut my eyes. Throw when you're ready." An idle thought crossed her mind that this could get very embarrassing.

The xeno-entomologist plucked the rip purple fruit from the bush, and held it speculatively in one hand. It was soft and juicy, and a sudden evil thought crossed his mind. "Only if I get to lick it off you," he said.

"Ok," she replied, and shut her eyes. What did she have to lose? She waited for an indeterminate time, and then exploded into action. Nadia drew her swords, and started to turn. She made one, two three strokes, using the energy of each blow to increase the rate of her spin. The final blow reached up behind her as she dropped to the ground, ending in a dramatic lunge, both of her blades held out in extension from her body.

"Fucking awesome," said a very English voice.

Nadia opened her eyes, a little surprised she wasn't smeared with bananafruit juice, and smoothly resumed her starting position. "Do you want to do that again?" she queried, tempting fate. There was no way she could repeat what she had just done – or was there? The English Avatar was right –she felt fucking awesome.

Martinez was too busy to give an immediate answer. He was staring open-mouthed at the six pieces of fruit lying on the grass behind Nadia. The final cut was a little ragged, as the fruit had started to come apart during the third blow. Somehow, he didn't know how, Khudoshin had managed to hit the damn fruit three times in three strokes, all with her eyes shut. "If I hadn't fucking seen it..." he started to say, and then changed his mind. "I'd still like that cup of coffee."

However, this time his voice was filled with respect.

* * *

Kalinkey saw the uniltìranyu brought to Kelutrel, taken prisoner by the young hunters of the clan. His stink was rank in her nose. Small shivers ran down her spine as she remembered the tie that she spent with Toktor Grace Augustine, teaching her the plants of the forest. She had stunk like this male.

She had long known that Zha'nelle had prophesised the coming of the two broken ones. Kalinkey looked curiously at the strange male. He looked less like a tawtute than most dreamwalkers she had seen, although his eyes were still too small, and he had too many fingers and toes. She idly wondered if he was one of the broken ones .

Clutching her son to her side, Kalinkey listened to the words of Eytukan and Mo'at, as they decided the dreamwalker's fate. Was this the right thing, to allow the tawtute back amongst the clan? She knew, better than anyone, what evil they could do.

When she heard that he was to be brought into the clan and taught the way of the Omaticaya, she felt a sense of foreboding. Not for the young man, but for what would follow him. She glanced at Zha'nelle, hoping for reassurance, but all her sister did was nod slightly, as though she was satisfied by the outcome.

* * *

When Nadia unlinked from her Avatar for the first time, well after sunset, an unusual scene presented itself in the link room. The entire Avatar support team was clustered around one link unit, almost praying. It was obvious by the stench of tobacco smoke and the sight of the head of the Avatar program pacing up and down, chain-smoking, that something was wrong. Very wrong.

One of the techs noticed her link unit opening. "Are you ok, Nadia?" she asked as she hurried over, her speech exaggeratingly slow and careful, as though Nadia was stupid.

"I'm fine," replied Nadia, her voice flat. She hated being treated as though she was handicapped, but decided there was little point in annoying the woman by standing on her high horse. "What's happening?"

"One of the new Avatars – Jake Sully – has gone missing in the field," replied the woman anxiously. Nadia remembered her name was Alicia.

Getting out of the link unit stretched the scar tissue on Nadia's back, sending waves of agony pounding into her brain. She could not help but flinch slightly. It wasn't that it hurt so much, she thought, she was used to that. It was for the incontrovertible fact that Nadia had a blessed twelve hours without feeling any pain at all.

"I wouldn't worry," snapped Nadia, abrupt from the sudden onset of pain. "Sully is tough. He'll survive."

Alicia drew away, an expression of revulsion appearing on her face. "Doctor Augustine was right about you. You are a cold bitch."

"Well fuck you too," snarled Nadia back. She fumbled on the floor for her shoes, slipping them on without doing up the closures. By the time she stood back up, Alicia had returned to the cluster of people around Sully's link unit.

Nadia limped slowly out of the link room, deaf to the celebrations that erupted when Sully's link unit opened.

* * *

There was no record of Sara anywhere on the Hell's Gate network. It was as though she had never come here.

Nadia knew differently.

Her v-mails had been dispatched without any difficulties to Pandora. After all, she had used the RDA's own directory service to send them, and the extortionate deductions charged for interstellar v-mails had definitely been extracted from her credit account.

Perhaps this was why Phred Palmer had been so evasive when she asked him about Sara.

She drummed her fingers on the desktop in her quarters, while she considered the results of the crawler she had used to search for Sara. The only thing she had found were in the v-mail archive – the v-mails that she had sent, together with the acknowledgement that they had been read by the addressee.

There was a subtle change in air pressure, indicating that the door behind her had opened. Nadia swivelled on her chair, to face a Sec-Ops grunt leaning against the door-frame.

"I thought you were supposed to be deaf," he commented. He looked like he had been left out in the sun for too many decades, his face deeply tanned and wrinkled, and what little hair he had was a solid grey. There were even grooves worn in his face where his exo-pack mask had ground its way into his skin.

"I am," she replied. "And you would be?"

"Lewis," he said calmly. "You haven't aged since I watched you a whole bunch of years ago in a v-mail with Sara the Smurf."

* * *

The news that Sara was still alive and living with the Omaticaya was more than welcome – even if she had to keep it to herself. It made the sitting on her ass doing nothing almost bearable.

What was unbearable was that Nadia could not go to the Omaticaya. That upright prig Augustine had told her relations with the clan that had adopted Sara were extremely hostile, and she would not be permitted to endanger her Avatar.

The Avatar support staff had frozen her out, so no-one talked to her – except for Martinez, who had tried to for a week to manoeuvre her into his cot.

When she eventually dragged off her wig to show Martinez what she really looked like, he behaved like almost every other male she had encountered since she had lost everything. He retreated in confusion and dismay and disgust. The only other reaction she had received over the years were from medical staff, who viewed her injuries with clinical detachment, or sometimes pity. That was worse than revulsion.

Sergeant Lewis, on the other hand, seemed to be an exception to the rule. It was a shame he was as gay as a troupe of airline stewards – otherwise she might have considered taking him to bed, and to hell with the pain. The fact that she was friendly to a uniformed grunt only seemed to exacerbate her chilly relations with the science team.

That was why she ate her meals alone.

So when Doctor Augustine dispatched her off to site thirty-one to be a research assistant to Martinez and his swarthy English mate Chandrasekhar, it was a relief to get out of this stinking hole.

No-one had told her that Sully had been taken in by the Omaticaya.

* * *

"Zhake'soolly," said an unfamiliar female voice from behind him. "I See you."

Jake started about. Almost no-one at Hometree had spoken English to him in the last two weeks other than dragon-lady Mo'at, that arrogant bastard Tsu'tey, and Ney'tiri.

"Oel ngati kameie," he replied. At least he knew that much Na'vi.

The woman wrinkled her nose. "Your Na'vi is terrible," she commented. "You should practice many times more."

He laughed. "I am trying very hard to learn the speech of the People," he said. "Although all I do is make Ney'tiri angry."

"You should try harder," said the woman. She paused for several seconds, as though she was nervous or afraid of him, when she said, "There is a question I would ask you."

"Shoot," he said.

An expression of confusion crossed the woman's face. "I do not have my bow with me, so I cannot shoot," she said regretfully.

Jake tried not to laugh at her expression, so he said seriously, "I meant, you may ask me your question."

"Oh," she said. "I had forgotten that 'Inglìsì has many colloquialisms. It is many years since I have spoken this tongue. I ask your apology, only."

"Of course," he replied, and waited.

The woman bit her lip, before she asked, "Is there a dreamwalker woman newly come to this world? She would be small, no higher than this." The Na'vi female made a gesture with her hand, about five feet above the ground. "Her tawtute body would have many scars, and she cannot hear."

"How..." he started to ask.

"Her name is Na'diakhudoshin," said the woman. "It is not important how I know this."

Jake nodded numbly.

"You must tell her and only her this message. It must not be overheard, or written down, or sent through a glass tablet. You must give it to her in person. Do you swear this on your word of honour?" she demanded.

"I swear," avowed Jake.

"Good," said the strange woman. "Tell her the girl from the dome is waiting.' She gripped his arm, digging her fingernails into his flesh, and glared into his eyes. "Promise me this."

Jake nodded again, "I promise."

"Good," she said, and abruptly released his arm and left to walk inside Hometree. A young boy ran to the woman, who swept him up in her arms and kissed him, before setting him down again.

Ney'tiri appeared almost unnoticed by his side. She said, "It is time to resume your lessons, Zhake."

"Srane," he agreed, before pointing to the strange woman with the boy and asking, "Who is that?"

"That is Kalinkey, the clan healer," replied Ney'tiri. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "She spoke to me in English, but did not mention her name," he replied. "Did she go to Doctor Augustine's school with you?"

Ney'tiri hesitated for a moment, before she answered, "How else would she have learnt 'Inglìsì?"

Jake Sully did not notice that Ney'tiri answered his question with another question.


	39. Chapter 39

The link unit opened, letting the soft blue light of the link unit penetrate Jake's eyelids. He groaned, and struggled to sit up.

"How are you feeling, Jake?" asked Alicia. "You were linked up for over thirteen hours,"

"Like a fucking sumo wrestler sat on me," growled Jake. He tilted his head from left to right, cracking the vertebrae in his neck, and scratched his left armpit. Jake stank. The link unit stank. The link room stank like a locker room after the big game – not like the fresh clean smell of Hometree at all.

He submitted to Alicia shining a light into his eyes, checking his pupil dilation. When she finished, Jake commented, "I haven't seen Doc Khudoshin around for a while. What's up with that, Alicia?"

"Khudoshin shipped out to site thirty-one two days ago," replied Alicia. "Grace Saw the light, and got rid of the ice-bitch. We don't have to see her for months, and only Martinez and Chandrasekhar have to deal with her now. I don't know why, but those two are on Grace's shit list as well. That's why they were assigned the egotistical shit."

"I don't get it," said Jake, swinging his butt on to his chair. He had no fucking chance of talking to Khudoshin now, not if she had been posted off-site. It seemed he would never find out the importance of the healer's cryptic message. "Why are you so down on her?"

Alicia shrugged. "I don't know. She's just one cold bitch, I suppose."

Max Patel had told Jake a little about what he had seen during Khudoshin's arrival medical. He shook his head - civilians had no fucking idea. "You should cut her some slack."

"What for?" asked Alicia. "She deserves everything she fucking gets, the way the arrogant bitch treats everyone."

"Jesus fuck, Alicia," said Jake. "She was only three clicks from Ground Zero in Kiev - she was burnt to a fucking crisp. Khudoshin has been in agony for over a decade, and she has the balls to refuse pain meds." He knew what it was like to get off the seductive haze of opiates – Jake had gone through two weeks of withdrawal hell in the VA hospital. Khudoshin deserved some respect for not submitting to the siren call of painkillers. "I think she deserves a little consideration. Just ask Max if you don't believe me."

The blood drained from Alicia's face, leaving it a sickly-looking grey, tinged by the blue light of the link room. "I had no idea," she whispered. "The poor woman..."

"Khudoshin doesn't want pity," snapped Jake, his temper flaring. He knew from personal experience how degrading it was to see that unwelcome softness in people's eyes. "She wants respect."

His hands gripped the wheels of his chair, and pushed off, leaving the surprised tech speechless behind him.

* * *

Kalinkey waited by the lake's edge, a pottery crock under her arm. She smiled as she saw Zha'nelle approach, bearing a similar burden, and waved. She almost curled up and laughed as she saw her sister skip like a young girl towards her.

When Zha'nelle came closer, Kalinkey said, "Kaltxi, Zha'nelle. Look, I have a jar of tirea'tutee. I brewed it tonight, all by myself."

"That's strange," said Zha'nelle. "I have a kali'weya in my crock. I caught it this afternoon." She tilted her head to one side and smiled at her fellow healer, "Do you think we should take Uniluke? It would be a terrible waste not to."

"It is a lovely night," replied Kalinkey happily. "Eywa would not approve wasting such a combination of tirea'tutee, a kali'weya and a beautiful night."

"Sometimes you talk too much, Kalinkey," said Zha'nelle, placing her burden on the ground. Her arms entwined about her sister's body and they kissed gently.

Kalinkey's laugh rippled out over the water of the lake. "You always were in a hurry to get the end of Uniluke, my love. Come, let us go to our place."

Zha'nelle reached down for her crock and replied, "The end is the best part."

"Come," repeated Kalinkey, pulling at Zha'nelle's arm. The two sisters of the tsumuke'awsiteng disappeared hand in hand into the night.

Their joined laughter echoed out over the still water.

* * *

Kalinkey lay back in Zha'nelle's arms, as they lazed in the hot pool that morning bathed in the afterglow of Uniluke. She said suddenly, "I wish to have another child. Tsawlontu and I have discussed this."

"It is not wise," answered Zha'nelle sadly. That would mean she could no longer partake of Uniluke with Kalinkey, until she gave birth. In all likelihood, Zha'nelle would also fall pregnant on ceasing Uniluke.

"Is it because of this?" Kalinkey traced the faint scar low on her body. "I am willing to risk it, my sister, as does Tsawlontu."

"No, it is not that," replied Zha'nelle, kissing Kalinkey on her cheek. She was silent for several seconds, knowing the risk she was about to take by revealing her prophecy. "I should have said it is not wise now. Zhake'soolly is the broken one."

"I thought he might be," commented Kalinkey. "So there is to be war with the tawtute soon."

Zha'nelle agreed sadly. "Srane. I am not sure when, but it is close." Perhaps it was no surprise – Kalinkey was not stupid, and as capable of drawing conclusions as anyone else who had heard her prophecy.

Kalinkey spun in her arms, gave Zha'nelle a dazzling smile and kissed her deeply on the lips. When they broke apart, Kalinkey said softly, "I can wait, my love. It is important that you receive the solace of Uniluke, until the prophecy is complete and you are whole again, free to choose."

"Irayo," whispered Zha'nelle, looking deep into Kalinkey's golden eyes.

"You don't need to thank me," replied Kalinkey. She sighed.

Frowning, Zha'nelle asked, "What is it, my love? Have I upset you?"

"No," she replied. "It is not you, it is me. I have done something you will not like."

"What could you have done that is so bad?" teased Zha'nelle. "You are always so good."

"I asked Zhake'soolly to take a message to a dreamwalker yesterday," said Kalinkey. She felt Zha'nelle tense at her news, making her worry that she had done the wrong thing. "I was careful in what I told him."

Zha'nelle relaxed suddenly. She knew that the dreamwalker was an honourable man – how else could he be one of the broken ones? "You took a terrible risk, my love," said Zha'nelle. "If it had been any other uniltìranyu...they would certainly betray you."

"I am sorry," said Kalinkey, tears of apology appearing in her eyes. "I could not help it. It was something I had to do – I dreamt I must tell the dreamwalker to carry my message."

"I understand," replied Zha'nelle. It seemed that Eywa had touched her sister, compelling her to act in this matter. "What message does he carry to this dreamwalker?"

Kalinkey closed her eyes and shivered slightly, as she remembered the words she was forced to say. "He is to tell Na'dia that the girl from the dome is waiting."

* * *

It was quiet in the hab module at site thirty-one.

Living with so many people in close quarters had been difficult. Nadia had become used to spending much time alone, but in Hell's Gate there had been nowhere that she could get away from people. It seemed that everyone had been watching her, either whispering that she was handicapped, or else muttering that she was a cast-iron bitch.

She was quite happy to leave for site thirty-one, even if it meant that she was alone at night in the hab module. Martinez and Chandrasekhar had elected to link to their Avatars from Hell's Gate. At night, that meant Nadia was alone.

Nadia was quite content to be alone, here in this place.

Even working as a research assistant to the two xeno-entomologists was not too troubling. She managed to keep her distance from the two males, dealing with them only a professional level. Both of them – but especially Martinez – seemed happy to deal with her, as long as she didn't get to close. She suspected that Martinez was a little afraid of her. Chandrasekhar, on the other hand, treated her very formally, as though he was born with a broomstick up his ass. It was only to be expected - he was English, after all.

The sun had set an hour ago, but it was not dark. The huge bulk of the gas giant Polyphemus filled the night sky with a soft blue light, making the view outside the hab module window look like an alien fairyland, like the dream of a child. It was hard to tell what produced more light – Polyphemus, or the bioluminescent glow of the forest plants.

Gazing out the window was a constant distraction, slowing her in her data reduction task. Nadia smiled to herself. The sooner she finished...Nadia had already hacked the hab module monitoring system to hide usage of the link units after sunset. Five minutes work, and Nadia would be able to link with her Avatar, and no-one would know what she did.

If Grace Augustine ever found out...It was a long way back to Earth, she thought for a brief moment. That waning thought was quickly brushed aside by the anticipation that the promise Sara had made to her all those years ago was about to be fulfilled.

Nadia would be able to dance again.

If only Sara was there to see – it would be perfect.

Almost perfect would have to do.


	40. Chapter 40

It had been many weeks since Kalinkey had asked Zhake'soolly to bear a message to Nadia. She frequently wondered why Zhake had not come to tell her that he had delivered the message, but after Zha'nelle's words during Uniluke, Kalinkey was too nervous to ask him. Not only that, Toktor Grace Augustine was almost always in Kelutrel now. She did not want the female Avatar to overhear her talking to Zhake, and become suspicious.

Instead, she hid herself away in the healer's alcove, mixing up lotions when she was not treating patients.

"Sa'nu! Sa'nu!" cried Stxeli'tstal, running in to the alcove. "Tsu'tey and Zhake'soolly are fighting. Come look!" Her young son grabbed at her hand, causing her to drop the jar she had been about to open.

The jar shattered when it hit the ground, splattering orange lotion over the floor.

"Wiya," swore Kalinkey, surprising herself. She never swore.

"You swore!" accused her son, his voice rising as though she had committed a dreadful sin.

"Yes, I did," she agreed, surveying the spoiled lotion on the ground. At least she hadn't dropped it on her treatment rug – the lotion was almost impossible to wash out of cloth. No doubt there would be an orange spot on the floor of her alcove for at least the next decade. Kalinkey sighed, thinking that the damage had already been done, and it would not matter if she delayed cleaning the floor for a few minutes. "Very well," she said. "I will come."

* * *

The fight was over by the time Kalinkey emerged into the crowd. She heard the dreamwalker start to speak, when Grace crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

"Oh, no," whispered Zhake. His eyes rolled back, and he joined Grace on the ground, more like a dead yerik fallen in the hunt than anything else. It was clear to Kalinkey that his spirit had fled the Avatar unwillingly, leaving it an empty shell, albeit one that still breathed. The healer shivered, touching her breast with her fingertips in reassurance. Once, long ago, the body in which she now dwelled was nothing more than one of the empty shells that rested on the ground before the clan.

Tsu'tey leapt on Zhake's body, and pulled back his head, holding his hunting knife to Zhake's throat. "This is a demon in a false body," he growled. "It shall not live."

As the muscles in Tsu'tey's shoulders tensed, ready to slash the Avatar's throat, Ney'tiri sprang at him, spitting and snarling in fury, defending her mate. They rolled in a flurry of arms, legs and tails. Suddenly, they separated. Ney'tiri threw Tsu'tey away with a thrust of both her legs. She scrambled back to crouch over her mate, her knife drawn, and her lips drawn back over her teeth.

"Gah," spat Tsu'tey, when he recovered his feet, more in disgust than any other motion. How could she have chosen this...alien, this demon over him? She had been promised to him, by the olo'eyktan, and the Tsahik. Still, he could not attack Ney'tiri. It did not matter. He would lead the war party out, and drive the aliens from the land of the Omaticaya. The demon would never return, and Ney'tiri would hurt as much as she had hurt him.

Kalinkey read all this on Tsu'tey's face, the rawness of his emotion shocking her. No, that was wrong. It didn't shock her, it frightened her.

Ney'tiri turned Zhake over, looking searchingly into his eyes. She called out, "Kalinkey, what is wrong with Zhake? It is as though he sleeps."

Kalinkey hesitated for a moment before coming forward. She knelt alongside Ney'tiri, and peeled back one of Zhake's eyelids. There was nothing in the eye but blankness. Kalinkey knew what had happened. "Zhake's tawtute body has been pulled from the machine that makes him a dreamwalker," she replied. "There is nothing we can do but wait for him to return."

A curious knot of Na'vi surrounded the two women. Kalinkey glared at them – they were in the way. She wondered what Akwey would have said to these idle onlookers. "You four," she ordered curtly. "Pick up the dreamwalkers. Take them to the healer's alcove. I shall care for them there."

Somewhat to her surprise, the four Na'vi she pointed at did exactly as they were ordered. She had never ordered anyone to do something in her life before. Well, that wasn't strictly correct. Kalinkey frequently told Tsawlontu what he should do, and sometimes he even did it. Then again, Tsawlontu wasn't just another Na'vi – he belonged to Kalinkey, just like her wooden blocks. The difference was that she had no intention of giving him away. To anyone.

* * *

Ney'tiri asked anxiously, "Is ma'Zhake going to be well?"

Kalinkey cleaned the ragged cut on Zhake's breast, smoothing in a healing cream. It was not deep enough to require stitches. "His body will heal in time, if given the chance," she answered. "It is only a small wound." A vertical crease appeared between her brows as she frowned. Akwey had told her of a case he had seen in his youth, of a Na'vi warrior who had lost consciousness after a blow to the head, and did not wake up. His body lived on for fifteen days, until his lungs filled with fluid and he drowned. Akwey thought that the lack of movement had caused a sickness, like the sickness that carried off many of the very old.

She continued, "I do not know how long it will be before Zhake or Grace returns. Their dreamwalker bodies – arms, legs and torsos - must be moved frequently so they do not sicken. You will have to do this, Ney'tiri." Kalinkey wondered if she would ever know whether Na'dia received her message.

"Why?" demanded Ney'tiri.

"Tsu'tey is to lead a war party against the tawtute," replied Kalinkey. She longed to take refuge in her numbers, but there was no solace to be had there. Not if she was to be true to her mate, and to her son. Kalinkey wished that she was brave, that she had the courage of a warrior, instead of being consumed by fear. She had seen in the ruins of Kiev how the tawtute waged war, and she feared for Tsawlontu and Mìnkxetse, both of whom had been readying themselves for battle. "There will be wounded. I have to go into the forest to gather plants, to prepare medicines. Zha'nelle must do this also, so we will be too busy to give the dreamwalkers the care they need."

"Oh," she said. What Kalinkey told Ney'tiri seemed sensible. "What must I do?"

* * *

They only had to wait a little more than one day for Zhake's spirit to return to his Avatar.

Kalinkey had tried to shut her ears to the rejoicing of the warriors, boasting how they cut down the tawtute and burnt the machines that despoiled Eywa. Instead, she lowered her head and concentrated on preparing her medical supplies. She had no doubt that despite the single minor wound suffered by the war party, there would soon be many dead and wounded. Kalinkey wondered if her mate and his brother would survive the next battle, and tried to force the memories of Kiev from her mind.

She had sent Zha'nelle into the forest again to seek more materials – speed in preparation was now her priority. They had gathered enough for her to start, but Kalinkey would still require more.

Ney'tiri was rearranging Zhake's arms and legs, when he started to move beneath her hands. She cried out in relief, "Ma'Zhake, you have returned to me."

As his eyes opened, her next words were stilled by the intensity of his gaze. Jake grabbed Ney'tiri's upper arm and said tightly, "We have no time. The sky-people are coming to destroy Kelutrel. I must warn the clan."

"Ma'sempul, ma'sa'nok are below," Ney'tiri replied. "We must hurry." She turned to Kalinkey, saying, "You must come too, to bear witness."

"One moment," responded Kalinkey. She sealed the jar she was filling with soft wax, and was about to say she would follow, when she turned around, to see Zhake and Ney'tiri disappear down the double helix at the core of Kelutrel, quickly followed by Grace, who had risen to her feet almost unnoticed.

Her son and Zha'nelle's daughter looked up curiously from their game of kalinkey'plox. "Sylwanin, Stxeli'tstal, I want you to stay here until I return."

"Srane, ma'sa'nok," said her son. "We will stay."

The last thing Kalinkey heard as she disappeared down the helix was Sylwanin say in her childish voice, "You are such a goody-goody, Stxeli'tstal..."

* * *

When Kalinkey descended the central helix, she heard Mo'at hiss, "Is this certain?"

The clan filled the open space at the base of Kelutrel, listening intently as Zhake confirmed the tawtute were coming to lay waste to this place. A cold shiver ran down Kalinkey's spine – the humans would devastate this place, her home, just like they had destroyed Kiev. They would do it at a distance, without care or honour.

What came next was almost like a dream – no, not a dream, a nightmare. Kalinkey heard Zhake admit that he had been sent to the Omaticaya to carry his message, right from the start. The cold spread from Kalinkey's spine into her heart. She had trusted this man to carry her message to Na'dia, this faithless man. It would have only been a question of time before he betrayed her. When Ney'tiri screamed that he would never be one of the People, Kalinkey knew Ney'tiri was right, no matter what Zha'nelle had told her.

Still, she was glad that she had made her son and the daughter of her sister stay in the healer's alcove. Kalinkey had heard the songs that told of the fate of those who betrayed the clan. She did not want to the children to see the blood of the two dreamwalkers spilled, even though they would not truly die – perhaps.

The thought of the blood that would soon come made her feel sick. Kalinkey knew from the old songs that all adults of the clan must witness the punishment of a traitor, but she did not want to be close. That was why she was in the outermost ring of Na'vi around the place of blood-letting, with none behind her. That was why she was surprised when a hand grasped her shoulder and spun her about. It was her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, returned from the forest.

Zha'nelle demanded, "Where is Sylwanin?"

Kalinkey answered grimly, "Inside, playing with Stxeli'tstal in the sleeping quarters. I did not wish them to see this."

Before Zha'nelle could reply, the forest started to echo with the roar of kunsips approaching – many of them. Zha'nelle tightened her grip on her sister's shoulder and hissed, "Get as many away from Kelutrel as you can."

Panic rose in Kalinkey's heart. "What Zhake'soolly said is true?" When Zha'nelle nodded in reply, Kalinkey gasped, "The children!"

Kalinkey started towards Kelutrel, her heart in hammering in her chest. As the kunsips swung around Keltrel, hovering above the lake, Zha'nelle grabbed at her arm and snarled, "No! I will get them. The clan will need your skills, now more than ever."

The healer hesitated, feeling a strange combination of relief and shame. Before she could do anything else, mortars on the largest of the kunsips fired with a curious cough, silvery cylindrical projectiles flying into Kelutrel. Unlike Kalinkey, Zha'nelle did not hesitate to run into the strange white cloud that issued from the cylinders and flooded the entrance to Kelutrel.

The choice had been made for Kalinkey, and in a strange way she was glad it was so.

* * *

She only managed to warn a few of the women to grab their children and run from Kelutrel before the kunsips fired their rockets. The smoke-trails reached out like the claws of a palulukan, and Kelutrel erupted into flames. Immediately, people began to scream and run in all directions. It was all she could do to snatch up a weeping child and run into the forest.

Kalinkey did not get far.

The concussions of the explosive rounds ripped at her body, throwing her through the air. She lost her grip on the nameless child. Immediately Kalinkey hit the ground she tried to get up, but each detonation knocked her down. She tried to find the child she dropped, but her eyes watered from the smoke, and burning clouds of gas lingered in the hollows of the ground so she could not see.

So Kalinkey stopped trying to run, curled into a small ball behind a tree stump, shut her eyes and screamed, her hands cupped over her sensitive ears.

It was as though she was waiting for the orderlies to come to punish her, back in the pale green room. The wonderful dream that was her life had turned into a nightmare.

When the silence came Kalinkey waited for several seconds before uncurling and sitting up. It really wasn't silence, she thought, as the flames at the base of Kelutrel were still roaring furiously. But the relative silence was not to last. As Kalinkey rose to her feet, the timbers of Kelutrel groaned, almost as though the immense tree was in pain. There was a slight pause, and then a deep tearing sound as the columns at the base of Kelutrel tore themselves apart.

Her eyes blinked once. Kelutrel was falling.

Equations rippled through her brain without thought, forecasting the trajectory of the falling tree. Before she could blink, Kalinkey was running. Not in the same direction that everyone else was, but back towards the base of Kelutrel, her vector angling slightly away from the falling trunk.

There was no way she could outrun the massive canopy of the falling tree by running out from its shadow, but by running in this direction, she might avoid being struck by the falling branches.

The ground shook behind her as the canopy started to strike the ground with tremendous velocity. Kalinkey struggled to stay on her feet, until at what felt like the last moment she flung herself to the ground. She had known nothing like it since the night the ground had shook under her feet in the dome outside Chernobyl.

* * *

When it was quiet again, Kalinkey rose to her feet. The only sound was the keening of the Na'vi survivors, but she did not add to it.

Her mind was blank. She could not comprehend that the huge living being that had been her home had been killed. One thought ran through Kalinkey's mind - now she would not have to clean up the orange lotion she had spilled in the healer's alcove. That was the only thought she could process.

"Kalinkey!" called out someone, a note of desperation in the caller's voice. "Kalinkey!"

She slowly turned towards the voice.

It was a woman carrying a heavy bow, leading a boy and girl towards her.

"Kalinkey!" cried out Zha'nelle. "Are you hurt?"

Hurt? Kalinkey brushed at the wetness on her face, and on her neck. She looked at her hand and saw blood. She must be bleeding from her nose and ears. Slowly, her brain switched on. "No, I think I am alright," she said, in spite of the evidence of the blood. Nothing hurt, really – no more than if she had fallen from a pa'li.

"Sa'nu!" cried out the young boy running towards her. "You're alive!"

She bent down to catch him, as she had done so many times before. "Yes, Stxeli'tstal," she confirmed, hugging him close to her. "I am alive, and so are you."

* * *

There were many dead, and even more injured. Too many of the latter would soon join the dead in the embrace of Eywa, no matter what Kalinkey could do. Miraculously, Tsawlontu and Mìnkxetse survived unharmed, and worked alongside their mates to try to save the living. There was little enough they could do, for all their healing supplies had been lost with the fall of Kelutrel.

The burns from the incendiary missiles were the worst – fortunately there were only a small number of those, as most of those that were burnt did not survive. Too often their only available response was to grant the blow of grace to end their suffering. What worried Kalinkey even more were the numbers of adults that were wandering aimlessly, in shock at the loss of Kelutrel. Many of them were being led to safety by children, who seemed much more resilient to the horror than she would have expected.

Zha'nelle and Kalinkey soon determined that the best course of action was to send their mates to the nearest clans, to seek assistance by bringing more healers and supplies.

"Irayo," murmured Kalinkey, as they strapped a broken arm to the torso of a young warrior.

"What for?" asked Zha'nelle.

Kalinkey replied, "For saving my son." She fell silent while she tied off the improvised dressing – a loincloth stripped from a dead female - until she added, "I was sure that you had gone to your death."

Zha'nelle barked an ironic laugh. "So had I," she answered bluntly.

Kalinkey nodded, asking, "What happens now?"

The answer was simple enough.

"War."


	41. Chapter 41

It was with relief that Kalinkey heard the clan was to go to Vitraya Ramunong. The place that had been Kelutrel and her home now reminded her of nothing other than the pedestrian mall in Kiev, filled with fire and smoke and the stench of burnt flesh.

She knew the faces of the dead would haunt her, but worse was to come.

There was a child – Kalinkey could not tell what sex it was, or even its age, although she knew the name and face and voice of every child in the entire clan. The child was horribly burnt. Kalinkey had thought it was dead, until she saw it move.

Reluctantly, Kalinkey knelt by the child, and heard its breath rattle, as it struggled to stay alive. There was no way that the child would survive its injuries. She could not reassure it with a gentle touch, for there was nowhere she could touch it that would not cause pain. There was only one thing that could be done.

The blade she always carried hissed when she slid it from its scabbard.

When she was done, she wiped the blood from her blade on her thigh, and replaced it in its scabbard. She did not even have time to whisper the prayer for the dead, for others needed succour. When Kalinkey moved on to the next injured Na'vi, the tears on her cheeks mingled with blood and dirt, tracing riverbeds of grief on her face.

* * *

Afterwards, Kalinkey would remember the long march to Vitraya Ramunong as a confusing blur of images, as she fought to keep the injured alive. Too often she failed.

It took over a day for the column to travel to Vitraya Ramunong. Many times they had to stop, when another of the sorely injured died. There was not time to bury the dead properly. Instead, they piled stones on top of the shells of the departed. The cairns the clan left behind on that trail between Kelutral and Vitraya Ramunong, in time, would become the markers that defined the fya'o gawvik Omaticayaru – the Way of Sorrow of the Omaticaya.

* * *

There was a low rumble in the air, as though a distant thunderstorm was raging, lashing the forest with rain.

"What was that?" queried Nadia. She had looked up from her data tablet, monitoring the results of the two xeno-entomologists, and scanned the horizon. There was not a single cloud in the sky.

Chandrasekhar commented, "It can't be rain. The local forecast is clear weather for at least the next week." He did not look up.

"It's probably fluctuations in the magnetic flux," said Martinez. "A localised shift in field strength could see a couple of the floating mountains move and bang together."

"Is that possible?" asked Nadia curiously. She wasn't worried. If there had been any danger of site thirty-one slamming into another mountain she suspected the two researchers wouldn't be seen for dust."

"Oh, yeah," replied Martinez. "I was talking to one of the geologists a couple of months ago. He said there was evidence for collisions between the floating mountains – either through extreme weather conditions, or variations in the magnetic field." He fired the mist net, trapping dozens of insects beneath its superfine mesh. "The slightest shift in field strength or polarity could initiate a major rearrangement of the mountains. Even a change in sunspot activity on Alpha Centauri A could trigger an event. It's a bit like God playing billiards."

"Don't you mean Eywa?" said Nadia pointedly.

The two researchers chuckled. "I suppose we should attribute it to the local deity," agreed Chandrasekhar. "It's a good reason for not offending local mores."

"Yeah," agreed Martinez. "Don't annoy Eywa or she will grind you into red paste on one of her floating rocks."

"Seriously, though," said Chandrasekhar. "You needn't worry. There is a mast-mounted lidar system on the hab module. It monitors the distance to all the floaters within four clicks. If there is any significant variation from norm it sounds an alarm. Hell's Gate will send a chopper out to collect us – if we are still alive. It's only a ninety minute flight."

"As long as it's daylight," commented Martinez. "Quaritch has put the kibosh on night flights. That's why we prefer to link up from Hell's Gate, rather than from the hab module here. We were both surprised when you agreed to come out here on your own."

"I thought the magnetic flux screws up military targeting systems," said Nadia. She noted that Augustine had neglected to mention this particular risk to her safety when she got posted out to site thirty-one. Still, she didn't care – there would have been no chance of her nightly excursions in her Avatar, if she had to link up from Hell's Gate.

Chandrasekhar replied, "It's all tied back to the pulse rate. Military systems pulse at thousands of times per second to generate accurate targeting data. Our warning system only pulses once every five seconds or so. The slow pulse rate and high power of the targeting laser doesn't require sensitive detectors, so the flux doesn't screw it up."

"That makes sense," replied Nadia. She double-tapped an icon on her forearm-mounted data tablet, and bent down to extract the insect analogues from the mist net, taking care not to let her fingers near their fearsome mandibles as she placed each one in a sample jar.

"You know," commented Martinez, admiring her dexterity, "For an anthropologist, you're not such a bad field assistant." There were a lot of scars on his fingers where he had failed to avoid being bitten.

Damned with faint praise, thought Nadia. "Gee, thanks a lot," riposted Nadia drily. "I'm still not going to date you, Martinez." She thought wistfully about the Na'vi warrior who had discovered her dancing in the central willow grove on her first night expedition. Nadia hoped that he would come again tonight, like he had on many nights since. She had a feeling that time was running out.

Chandrasekhar gave a pointed glance at the shortswords riding high in the scabbards against Nadia's back. "One touch, José, and the offending limb will end up on the ground," he commented.

"Oh, I wouldn't be that mean," replied Nadia, her eyes twinkling. "It would have to be a definite grope before I removed an appendage. A simple touch would only warrant a broken nose." Now if it had been the Na'vi warrior groping her – Txep'ean was his name – she wouldn't have any objections at all. Not that it was likely to happen. He showed Nadia far too much respect for her liking.

The two researchers were fairly sure that Nadia was not joking.

"Listen," said Nadia. "It's quiet."

Martinez and Chandrasekhar both stood up, their ears flicking. Nadia was right – the rumbling had stopped.

* * *

She was so tired.

Kalinkey had not slept since Kelutrel had fallen. She could not remember how many Omaticaya had gone to Eywa beneath her hands. It was wrong that this was so – it had always been natural for her to count everything.

She did not want to count the dead. It hurt too much.

Those wounded who had survived the march to Vitraya Ramunong were gathered in a hollow protected from the weather by a rocky outcrop, just outside the sacred place. Kalinkey had set many of the older children to fetch water and food, while the adults of the clan gathered about the Tree of Souls, to confirm the new olo'eyktan in his place, and to mourn the dead.

No doubt there would be a council, so that the Omaticaya could decide what was to be done. No doubt it was to be war with the humans, and many more of the People would die.

It was wrong that the warriors of the clan did not stay to help with the injured. It angered Kalinkey, so much so that she could hardly speak. When Tsawlontu had asked if she wanted help, she had wanted to strike him, but did not. Instead, she told him to go to the Tree with the others of the clan. She had even sent Zha'nelle to follow him.

The comatose Avatar of Grace Augustine rested amongst the injured. It carried only a few cuts and bruises, the only real injury the absence of its spirit. Kalinkey knelt to check its pulse, and placed her ear to its chest to listen to the heartbeat. It was steady and strong, as was its slow breathing.

"It has been many years since I first met you," she addressed the still Avatar, when she lifted her head away from its breast. "In that time, the tawtute murdered my love Sylwanin, and destroyed my home. They have slain many of my clan, and they would have slain me, if not for the actions of my friends. I gave freely of the knowledge that was given to me by Akwey, but even if I had not, you would have taken it, even as you took the rocks in the earth. What have you ever given to the Omaticaya, except anguish and sorrow?"

There was no answer.

A sudden flare of red obscured Kalinkey's sight. She snatched her knife out of its sheath, and snarled out a wordless cry as she lifted her knife to kill this thing, this useless shell. Just as she was about to plunge the blade into the Avatar, the right hand twitched, as though the shell was dreaming.

"Gah!" Kalinkey snapped, and stood up in disgust. She could not even kill this thing, although the blood of many Omaticaya now stained her spirit.

"What is it, sa'nu?" asked Stxeli'tstal. "Are you angry?" He had been standing behind her quietly, holding a leaf full of berries that he had picked.

"Yes, ma'itan," she replied. "I am angry at the tawtute, for killing so many of our clan. I am angry at our warriors, for provoking the tawtute. I am angry that so many Omaticaya are in pain." She paused for several seconds, two tears forcing their way out of her eyes. "I am angry that all I could do for so many was to grant them the blow of grace."

"Are you going to throw many crocks at the tawtute?" asked her son. That was what she did to his father when she was angry.

Despite her anger, Kalinkey could not help smile at the worried look on her son's face. "I am afraid there is no crock large enough to hold my anger that I may throw at the tawtute," she told him.

Stxeli'tstal frowned, "Perhaps if you threw many smaller crocks you would feel better."

"There would have to be very many crocks," she smiled back at her son. "I do not think I have ever been this angry."

"Oh," he said. "I hope you are never that angry at me."

Before she could assure Stxeli'tstal that she was almost never angry at him, a huge shadow blotted out the sky, and the forest echoed with the roar of a toruk on the hunt.

* * *

Kalinkey ran to the depression that held the Tree and stopped dead at the entrance. She was in total shock, just like every other Na'vi below her.

The reason was quite simple. There was a toruk in the sacred place – a toruk with a rider. The songs told of the riders of the huge predators – the Toruk Makto – of how they were blessed by Eywa, sent as a guide in times of great sadness. There had been only five, but now there were six.

The sixth Toruk Makto was not Na'vi – he was uniltìranyu. He was the dreamwalker Zhake'soolly.

The emotions that gripped the Omaticaya below her – a combination of disbelief and awe – were not felt by Kalinkey. All she felt was an overwhelming sense of relief – he had kept the faith. Kalinkey had not been wrong to trust Zhake with her message to Nadia.

A small hand crept into hers as she stood above the hollow of Vitraya Ramunong. "Look, ma'itan," she said softly. "This is a sight you will never see again. The uniltìranyu Zhake'soolly has been sent by Eywa to be Toruk Makto, to aid the Omaticaya in this time of sadness. It is something to tell your children, and your grand-children, when you are old, that you saw him first revealed to the People."

"His spirit must be strong," replied Stxeli'tstal quietly.

"Stronger than anyone realised," said Kalinkey to her son.

As they spoke, Zhake'soolly dismounted and approached the central platform that held the Tree of Souls, where Tsu'tey, Ney'tiri and Mo'at stood. The gathered Omaticaya did not stop him, but parted before his stride like the air parted before a hunter's arrow.

The words of Toruk Makto carried easily throughout the sacred place. When Zhake'soolly told that he was here to save Grace, a cold shiver ran down Kalinkey's spine. She had come so close to killing her Avatar, only a few minutes ago.

* * *

"Thank you for looking after Grace's Avatar," said the dreamwalker in tawtute clothing. Kalinkey thought his name was Toktor Norm Spellman. His Na'vi was good, if a little stilted, and he did not smell very pleasant. She supposed it was not his fault that he did not know how to take care of his body, but he should learn. Even a child knew how to keep clean.

"If not for the Tsahik," she replied, feeling a hot rush of shame, "The uniltìrantokx would not be alive. It is Mo'at you should be thanking, not me."

"Still, I wish to thank you," he said. "So will Jake." He picked up the limp body, carrying it in his arms.

As he turned to take the Avatar to the Tree of Souls, Kalinkey touched his arm. "If Grace does not pass through the eye of Eywa, do not feel bitter and angry," she told him. "The ways of Eywa cannot be known. Just remember her as she was."

The dreamwalker nodded brusquely, anxious to take the Avatar to the Tree. It was clear to her that he did not really See the words she had spoken. Eywa was not a tool or an implement used to obtain the wants of an individual, or of a clan or nation, like the gods of the humans. Instead, she preserved the balance of life on this world.

Kalinkey hoped that he would understand and accept whatever happened.

Afterwards, she pondered her own words, and thought she understood the intent of Eywa, of why Grace did not pass through the Eye of Eywa. She saw the expression of resignation on Zhake'soolly's face replaced by grim determination. If not for Grace's death, could Zhake'soolly have spoken as he did, and roused the fire of the Omaticaya? Kalinkey did not think so.

Now war was coming, just as Zha'nelle had said. And not just war between the Omaticaya and the tawtute. The Fifteen Clans were coming.

Kalinkey hoped that the tawtute would not destroy the Na'vi, as she had seen Kiev destroyed.


	42. Chapter 42

When the warriors of the clans started to pour in to the Omaticaya encampment at Vitraya Ramunong, a few healers accompanied them. They wished to see the wounded, so that they could judge how to treat the fallen from the coming battle, and thus requested Kalinkey to show them.

Kalinkey could see the good sense in this, although she was reluctant to disturb her patients. She felt that using them for such a purpose ignored their individual pain, treating each of the injured as a thing other than as a person. So she struck a balance between the needs of the clans, and the needs of the individual, and introduced each patient to the healers of the clans, asking each one for permission to discuss their injuries.

Not a single one refused, despite their agony.

She could feel the increasing tension from the foreign healers as she enumerated the catalogue of injuries. Kalinkey could tell that none of them had ever seen anything on the same scale.

"War is terrible," she said. "What you see here is the dreadful cost."

The healer from the Tipani said, "I wish that the young warriors who grab for a spear at the slightest insult would see this. It might make them think twice, before they cast."

Kalinkey smiled a bitter smile. "As well wish for the hungry palulukan to spare the yerik."

After they left, discussing quietly what they had seen, a voice came out of the darkness, "Perhaps we should do as the Tipani healer suggested."

Kalinkey jumped in surprise. "I did not see you there, Zhake'soolly. I apologise for my lack of regard."

"It is nothing," he said, coming into the light. "You were right to be focused on your charges."

She smiled at him, saying, "You are right that seeing the result of war may keep the knife in its sheath."

Zhake said, "I don't think the humans would be open to such an argument." He sighed once, adding, "It was not that long ago that I lie crippled from my wounds, in the care of the healers. War is indeed a terrible thing."

"Yes," she agreed. "I had hoped that I would not see the results of war again."

The Toruk Makto tilted his head and gazed keenly at Kalinkey. He had thought the Omaticaya had been at peace for many years, despite the many provocations of the humans. "This is not the first time you have seen such as this."

"No," she agreed, reluctant to say more.

There were many seconds of uncomfortable silence, until Zhake'soolly said, "I owe you an apology, Kalinkey. I was unable to deliver your message to Toktor Khudoshin. She had been posted away from Hell's Gate when I unlinked, and has not returned since."

Kalinkey shrugged. "It is nothing," she replied. "I have waited for twelve years to send my message to Na'dia. A few more days will not matter."

"Twelve years?" asked Zhake. "How?"

She paused for a brief moment. Zhake'soolly had chosen the Na'vi over the species of his birth, just as Kalinkey had. There was no harm in telling him, not now – not now he was truly Omaticaya. "Na'dia is the sister of my spirit," she said. "I knew her on 'Rrta, before Kiev."

An incredulous expression crossed Zhake's face. "You were taken to Earth, and returned?" he demanded. There could be no other way – Kalinkey was a true Na'vi – her four fingered hands, slim build and large golden eyes shouted that she was no other.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I was born tawtute, as you were."

"But..." he started. "I don't understand."

"I was first," she explained simply. "I was the first Avatar."

An expression of hope filled Zhake'soolly's face, quickly replaced by a deep frown. "That explains much," he replied, furrowing his brow. "Did you see the nuke in Kiev?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Good. Then you understand what we face," said the Toruk Makto.

Kalinkey made no reply. She did not need to.

* * *

The sky was lightening in the east. Kalinkey was patiently applying paint to Tsawlontu's face. "Stop screwing up your nose, my love," she said. "The paint will not go on smoothly if you do that."

Tsawlontu replied, "I can't help it. It tickles."

"What if I press harder?" she asked. "Like this." Kalinkey demonstrated by grabbing her mate's buttocks and squeezing hard, leaving four prominent green and black fingerprints on each side of his tail.

"The paint is supposed to strike fear into the tawtute," quipped Tsawlontu, a wry smile on his face. "I don't intend showing them my ass."

"But it's a very attractive ass," teased Kalinkey. "I like looking at it – it is very distracting. If you show it to them, perhaps the tawtute will forget to shoot because of its beauty."

Laughing softly, Tsawlontu pulled his mate closer, and kissed her on the forehead. "They are more likely to use it for target practice," he quipped. Suddenly serious, Tsawlontu said, "Promise me that you will stay away from the battle. I cannot do this if I know you are in danger."

"I am no warrior," she replied, just as seriously. "I have the wounded to look after, and our son. I have promised Zha'nelle to care for Sylwanin as well. There will be more than enough for me to do."

Tsawlontu leant his forehead against hers, and breathed out slowly, holding his mate close. He felt nothing but relief. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I ask only one thing of you," she whispered back. "Return to me. You have promised me another child, and I cannot make one without you."

He looked down at his sleeping son, curled up between two tree roots. "I would like that," he said. Kalinkey went to move to wake Stxeli'tstal, so he may wish his father farewell. Tsawlontu murmured, "No. Let him sleep. Our son looks so peaceful. I do not wish to disturb him."

Kalinkey nodded, understanding her mate. It was hard enough for Tsawlontu to go into battle, without seeing the tears of their son. "I had best finish your paint then," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

No more words were spoken while Kalinkey finished painting her mate. When she was done, Tsawlontu picked up his bow, and kissed her gently on the lips. As he turned away, he briefly brushed her cheek with his fingertips, making her eyelids close from the intensity of his touch, and two tears rolled down her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, Tsawlontu was gone.

* * *

Kalinkey sought out Zha'nelle and Mìnkxetse, as she had promised. Taking Sylwanin from her sister, and seeing them go was almost as hard as bidding Tsawlontu farewell. They watched the ikran and their riders take off into the dawn, and the pa'li clans ride out. It was an awe-inspiring sight.

"Where are we going?" asked Sylwanin, clutching hard to Kalinkey's hand.

"You'll see," she answered.

There were only a couple of people left in the Tipani encampment, including the healer. "You have it?" she asked.

The older woman said, "Yes." She picked up a bow leaning against a tree, and passed it to her. "It is my son's second best bow. Take care of it."

"Irayo," said Kalinkey, as she accepted a bundle of arrows. It was unlikely that she would be able to used them all, but better too many than not enough.

"Eywa ngahu," added the woman.

As she walked away, Kalinkey wondered what Tsawlontu would say if he knew what she was doing. After all, she had not promised. She had merely said that she had to take care of the wounded – which was exactly what she intended doing. If the battle came towards the wounded, Kalinkey intended that no tawtute would do them harm. So be it.

* * *

"Sylwanin, Stxeli'tstal, "I want you to paint me," asked Kalinkey. Her son had woken up when she returned to the place of the wounded with Sylwanin. "I want to be painted in stripes, all over, sloping from one side to the other, green, then black, then green and black again. Can you do this?"

"Yes," chorused the children.

Something of the urgency in her voice was conveyed to the two children. They did not squabble or fight over who painted which colour, or what pattern should be used. Instead, they fell into their assigned task with a will, quickly painting Kalinkey all over.

When they finished, KKalinkey said, "I want you to promise that you will hide in this tree." She pointed to the tree behind them. "No matter what happens, what you see or hear, you will hide here, and not move until the battle is over, when I return."

They nodded.

"Do you promise?" she demanded. "I want your word of honour."

The two children looked at each other. Kalinkey was not giving them any room to wriggle out of the promise.

They nodded again, and whispered together, "We promise, on our word of honour."

"Good," she said. "Now take this, and hide." She gave them some dried fruit in a woven bag, and a small flask of water. "If you get hungry, eat and drink a little. This has to last you all day. Do not get out of the tree, even to relieve yourselves."

Sylwanin and Stxeli'tstal nodded once more, and scrambled up the tree. They hid in a hollow in the first major fork. Kalinkey walked around the tree, and could not see any sign of them. At least they should be safe there – as safe as anywhere could be.

She picked her bow, and the arrows, and walked into the forest. If there had been a watcher there, all he had to do was blink once, and she would have disappeared into the shadows of the forest, more like a ghost than a person.

But there was no-one there to see.

* * *

Lewis did not want to be here.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered.

"What was that, Staff?" whispered one of the grunts. He thought it might have been Bruni.

"Stow it, shithead," he hissed back. Fucking Quaritch, he thought. Just because he had been assigned as the Na'vi language instructor, Lewis had been placed at the top of the Colonel's shit list. He suspected he was just below Sully.

That was why Lewis was leading a six man Recon section right into the belly of the beast. Quaritch wanted intel, on the ground, before he did his mad Custer charge to wipe out the Na'vi. Lewis thought – no, not thought, knew Quaritch was fucking delusional – especially after the psychotic bastard wiped out Hometree. The Na'vi were never going to rest until they wiped humans off the face of the planet.

He knew what they were like – and he respected them for what they were. Besides, his friend Sara the Smurf was on the other side. Lewis wanted nothing of this mission, or of this war.

Lewis had been given little choice. He had seen the mad gleam in Quaritch's eyes when he received his orders. If he had objected to his assignment, he knew – yes, knew Quaritch would pull out his Wasp revolver and waste him, right there and then. The fucking lunatic would have loved nothing better than to see Lewis' brains splattered over the wall.

He might have done something about it, but Quaritch's leadership cadre was a bunch of nutcases just as delusional as their CO. They would have blown Lewis away if he had taken Quaritch out. And Lewis had a strange attachment to his own skin.

His secondary mission was even less palatable than the primary. Getting close enough to Vitraya Ramunong to designate the target, just in case the Na'vi got the Valkyrie shuttle – an act of fucking lunacy. If the Na'vi eliminated the shuttle, there was no way a Scorpion gunship was going to get anywhere near the Tree of Souls. For fuck's sake, there was enough dust and moisture in the Pandoran atmosphere that the Na'vi would see scattering from the laser beam. The UV-frequency of the laser was in the Na'vi visual range, and the Na'vi were anything but dumb. But there was not telling Quaritch that the laser target designator wasn't invisible – he just would ball him out, accusing Lewis of a lack of aggressive spirit.

"Form a perimeter," he murmured, touching his finger tips to his throat mike. "I'm going up this tree. Don't fucking shoot anything unless fired upon, or when I come down, I'll tear you shitheads each and every one of you a fucking new ass-hole."

"Got it, Staff," chorused the recon team.

It took him about ten minutes to scramble to the top of the forest giant. The sun – or rather Alpha Centauri A – was just peeking over the horizon.

"Jesus fuck," he growled, as he switched frequencies. Lewis had never seen anything like it. "Hell's Gate Tower, this is Sneak Play."

"Sneak Play, please authenticate," crackled the response. There was a lot of interference – the flux, no doubt.

"Tango Juliet Victor Niner Five Two," replied Lewis.

"Authentication accepted, Sneak Play. Proceed with message."

Lewis breathed in deeply. "Am in position one point five clicks south-west of target. Am observing one triple zero plus banshees with riders taking off.

A different voice came over his earwig. "Sneak Play, this is Papa Dragon." It was Quaritch. "Did you say one thousand plus banshees?"

"Affirmative, Papa Dragon. One thousand plus banshees," confirmed Lewis. That should give Quaritch something to think about. "Repeat, one thousand plus banshees. I cannot determine direction of flight – the air is too full of the fuckers."

"What about ground troops?" demanded Quaritch. "Can you give an estimate of their numbers, and probable threat axis?"

"Negative, Papa Dragon," he replied. "There are indications of movement, but ground cover is too thick to give an estimate."

"Good work, Sneak Play," said Quaritch. "Proceed to secondary objective, and illuminate target as planned. Advise any targets of opportunity. Papa Dragon out."

Fucking great. It looked like he had no option but to continue with the mission. If he bugged out, Quaritch would haul his ass in front of some kangaroo court martial and have him shot. Lewis gritted his teeth, and began to scramble back down the tree. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could get out of this clusterfuck.


	43. Chapter 43

The thicket Kalinkey had finally chosen was near perfect. The sightlines were excellent – Kalinkey was in defilade for the two most likely approach routes – and the sunlight fell through to the ground contrasted strongly with the deep shadow. Even better, she could fall back under almost complete cover, so she could disengage at will.

She could not have chosen a better place to stand guard.

All she could hope for now was that no humans would come to this place. Kalinkey suspected, however, that her hope was a forlorn one. Zhake had been fairly clear that destruction of the Tree of Souls was the primary objective of their insane commander.

What came next was the hardest part – or what the songs always said was hardest. The waiting.

Kalinkey had a plan for that. To stop herself from thinking, she retreated to her numbers, slowly counting up from zero in a steady rhythm, just as though she was hammering out the numbers on her drums. She could do this, and still keep guard while remaining calm. Her unconscious brain would monitor her senses, and warn her of any approaching humans.

* * *

The recon section moved slowly through the forest towards their objective. Lewis didn't know how they managed to avoid being spotted by the masses of Na'vi cavalry that thundered past their position. The ground itself shook beneath their passage.

Lewis tried to get a good take on their numbers – all he could say was that there were a shitload of them. He radioed in his observation and their direction back to Hell's Gate. He just thanked Christ that the Na'vi had not had humanity's experience with war. Lewis would have detailed a small rearguard specifically to catch recon parties like his own, and roll them up after the main body passed. It was, after all, the human thing to do. Otherwise, he would have expected to start being shot at about now.

Then again, if Lewis had learnt anything in his fifteen years on Pandora, it was that the Na'vi were not human.

* * *

One ear twitched, snapping Kalinkey out of her reverie. There had been the slightest crack – a careless foot had stood on an almost rotten branch. Something was trying to approach Vitraya Ramunong silently, but only a shod foot would have made that simple mistake. A naked foot would feel the branch beneath its sole, and shift its weight to avoid.

Only the tawtute wore boots in the Pandoran forest.

Kalinkey narrowed her eyes, seeking out the subtle signs of movement.

There. There it was. She saw an outline of a shoulder, and a flash of colour that did not belong. The camouflage cloth that the tawtute wore hid the wearer well from human eyes, but not those of a Na'vi. Kalinkey was surprised that the tawtute had never considered changing their camouflage pattern and colours.

Slowly, Kalinkey eased an arrow on to her bowstring, and drew, camouflaging the slight creak of the bow with the natural sounds of the forest. Feeling sick to her stomach, she took aim on the moving figure, telling herself that it was just like shooting targets. Kalinkey breathed out slowly, and then loosed the arrow.

* * *

The unmistakeable muffled sound of an arrow striking flesh echoed through the forest. Immediately, Lewis stopped moving through the undergrowth, slowly crouching down to maximise cover. "Report in," he murmured into his throat mike.

"Schiffer." "Bruni." "Campbell." "Moss."

Shit. Macpherson had bought it. Lewis hadn't seen a damn thing. The Na'vi weren't as naive as he had thought – they must have left a couple of their top hunters behind to prevent any infiltrators from getting through.

Involuntarily, Lewis turned his head. The noise of distant explosions and cannon fire washed over his position. It sounded like the main battle had started, and he wagered that Quaritch was having himself a damn fine time.

He scanned the forest around him, taking care to stay within cover. If he was a Na'vi wanting to bushwhack some humans, where would he be? There looked to be an excellent spot, just up ahead – but if someone was there, the sneaky son-of-a-bitch was in defilade for the two best approach routes. Lewis touched his fingertips to his throat mike, ordering, "Campbell, drop a grenade four metres left of the warbonnet up ahead."

"Got it, boss."

* * *

There were more humans out there. Kalinkey knew it – she could smell them. She just couldn't see the filthy tawtute.

Kalinkey had no doubt that they had ducked into cover, and were even now trying to localise her. She nocked another arrow on the bowstring, half drawing it. She knew she could complete the draw and loose the shot in an instant. All she needed was one glimpse of a tawtute, and she could kill him.

The sick feeling in Kalinkey's stomach had disappeared completely. Instead, now her senses were razor sharp, as though she was teetering on the edge of a blade.

A tawtute soldier rose up out of the undergrowth, his features distorted by the mask of his exo-pack. Kalinkey drew and released without an instant of hesitation. The arrow flew across the intervening distance, slamming into the soldier's neck. A spray of blood erupted from the unfortunate tawtute. As he fell backward, he jerked his assault rifle up and squeezed the trigger.

The forty-millimetre grenade round flew up into the air, striking an overhanging branch and exploding. A mix of shrapnel and timber fragments rained down. Kalinkey shrieked as a burning hot metal fragment sliced into the flesh of her upper arm. They knew where she was now. She had to get out.

* * *

The four remaining members of the recon section stood as one, all firing off a grenade round. Lewis caught a glimpse of the Na'vi moving as the grenades arced to its position. Shit, it was fast. He had never seen anything move that fast before.

Immediately, he remembered a chopper ride years ago, when a female Na'vi warrior named Sylwanin te Tskaha Moat'ite lunged across the cargo area of a Samson chopper, saving Paklowski from falling to her death. He was wrong – he had seen someone move as quickly as this Na'vi warrior once before.

Lewis knew that Campbell's grenade had caught a piece of it – he had heard the Na'vi yelp.

That was the last thought he had before the four grenades went off in a ripple of explosions, spraying the Na'vi position with shrapnel.

Moss cried out a yell of triumph that masked the groan and snap of the overhanging branch. Then he looked up, and gave a brief scream, as the falling branch smashed him to the ground.

"Fuck!" yelled Lewis. "Schiffer, see if the smurf is dead. Bruni, with me."

Schiffer moved forward to the Na'vi position, and called out, "There are bloodstains – it looks like we got a piece of it. No other signs."

Lewis was trying not to throw up. The lower half of Moss' torso had been smashed into paste, but the poor bastard was still alive. "Did I get it, Staff?" he whispered. Tremors were racking his body. It was just as well that Moss was pinned, and could not see the ruin of his body.

"Yeah, you got it," lied Lewis.

Moss shuddered, "It's bad, isn't it."

"I've seen worse," replied Lewis. "Bruni here is going to give you some happy juice. We've already called in a chopper to evac you. In ten minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hell's Gate."

"Thanks, Staff," said Moss.

Bruni rolled up Moss' sleeve, and plunged in a disposable syrette. Almost instantly, the trembling stopped, and the doomed man's eyes closed. "Another one?" asked Bruni.

Lewis nodded. There was no way the poor bastard was going to survive ten minutes, let alone the evac flight. They might as well let him off this mortal coil feeling no pain. After the second syrette, Moss' hands flexed once, and he was gone. Lewis pulled off one of his Dead Meat Tickets, and slipped it into a pouch.

Both Macpherson and Campbell were dead. There was an arrow the size of a tree-trunk in Macpherson's chest, dead centre. The unlucky prick would have been dead before he hit the ground. Campbell hadn't been so fortunate. The Na'vi must have rushed his shot, as it had torn through the side of his neck, slicing open his carotid artery. It must have taken Campbell a little while to bleed out – somehow, he had managed to extract a dressing from his medkit and apply it to the side of his neck. The only problem was the dressing was too fucking small to stop the bleed.

Another two DMTs joined the one in Lewis' pouch.

"What now, Staff?" asked Bruni.

Lewis bit his lip. "We're close to the objective – work around to the right, and get up a tree. You should only need to go a couple of hundred metres to get a clear view, so lasing the target should be a snap. Just don't get seen."

Bruni didn't look too happy, but he nodded anyway, scavenged a few magazines from Macpherson's body, and moved out.

When Lewis flopped alongside Schiffer, he passed over a few extra mags.

"Thanks," murmured Schiffer. You could never have too much ammo. The poor bastards it had been issued to no longer needed it, in any case.

Lewis whispered, "Where is it?"

"I think it is forty metres on our ten," responded Schiffer. "Behind that fucking big tree."

It was the best cover in sight. Everywhere else was pretty exposed.

* * *

Kalinkey's hands were shaking. It made it difficult to mix the resin, and apply it to her wound. But if she didn't do it quickly, she would lose too much blood and become light-headed and foolish. At least she had managed to get the metal fragment out of her body.

Akwey would not have been pleased with the dressing of her wound. He would have scolded her severely for doing such a sloppy job. But then, her teacher had never had to dress his own wound while tawtute soldiers were trying to kill him.

As the resin was hardening, something happened that surprised her greatly.

"Warrior," cried out one of the tawtute. "If you surrender, we will spare your life. We do not wish to kill you."

His Na'vi was almost perfect, and Kalinkey knew his voice. Not only that, he had betrayed his location. "Lu'iss," she replied back in 'Ìnglìsì. "You are my friend. You know I cannot surrender. If I let you pass, the tawtute will kill my son. You know this is true, Lu'iss. Leave, or I must kill you, though I do not wish to."

* * *

"Fuck!" swore Lewis under his breath.

Schiffer looked incredulously at the Staff Sergeant. "You know this smurf bitch?" There was no doubt in his mind that the Na'vi they were facing was a woman.

Lewis growled back, "Yes."

* * *

Bruni froze. Somehow, he had stumbled right into the middle of the smurf equivalent of an aid station. He could see a dozen wounded Na'vi all around him, most of them apparently drugged into insensibility. He was about to back away when he heard a couple of voices speaking in Na'vi, coming closer.

There wasn't enough time.

He slung his weapon over his shoulder and scrambled up a tree – it looked like he was going to have to lase the target from here. Bruni was almost to the first major fork in the trunk when the voices grew louder. He looked down, and saw two unarmed Na'vi stopping at each of the wounded. They talked softly in their alien jibber-jabber, and thank Christ, did not look up.

Somehow, he managed to hang there until the two smurfs moved away, the muscles in his arms and legs shrieking from the effort of holding himself motionless against the tree. Then they were gone. If he could climb up to the fork, he could rest there for a minute to ease his aching limbs, before scaling to the heights of the tree.

Shit! There were a couple of smurf kids in the fork of the tree – a girl and a boy. They looked to be scared shitless, much like he was. He trained his assault rifle on the larger of the two children – a female - one handed, and held his finger to his lips and whispered, "Shhh!" Bruni didn't usually do kids, not if he could help it – even if they were alien smurfs.

He didn't know what the fuck he was going to do now. Shooting them was going to make too much noise, but a single peep from either of them and his ass was toast.

* * *

Stxeli'tstal was afraid, more afraid than he had ever been in his life. The distorted face of the tawtute soldier looked terrifying behind its clear mask. And it wasn't just him, he could feel Sylwanin trembling alongside him. The hole at the end of the tawtute's weapon looked as large as the yawning mouth of a palulukan.

He saw the tawtute's left hand drop down to his belt, fumbling for the hilt of a knife. The tawtute seemed to have a little difficulty, dropping his eyes for a moment to see why the knife wouldn't draw out of it sheath.

A moment was all Stxel'tistal needed. His hand dropped to the hilt of his knife – a gift from his father – and his fingers closed around its hilt. With a single clean action, Stxeli'tstal drew the knife and made an underhand throw, flicking his wrist before release, just like his father had taught him on their fishing trips. Sempu had told him not to tell his mother, that the lessons would be their little secret.

The knife flew straight and true on an upwards trajectory, penetrating the soft skin under the tawtute's jaw. Stxeli'tstal had thrown the knife as hard as he could – it sank in right to the hilt, sliding the point in between the C1 and C2 vertebrae.

The tawtute's eyes opened wide incredulously as its weapon lowered. It stood for a moment, swaying slightly, and slowly topped backwards, falling out into space.

The two children scampered forward, looking down the trunk of the tree, just in time to catch sight of the dead tawtute crashing to the ground. Two adults raced over to the body to examine it.

Sylwanin turned towards him, her face twisted with fury. "Skxawng," she snapped. "You could have got us both killed.

Stxeli'tstal felt his lips tighten. "The tawtute pointed his gun at you," he said coolly. "I could not allow it – especially when he reached for his knife. He had to die."

Suddenly, Sylwanin felt unsure of herself. The calm expression on Stxeli'tstal's face belied the anger in his eyes – the boy she had always been able to boss around. She felt as though the ground had been snatched from under her feet. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

Stxeli'tstal was about to climb down the tree. "I have to get my knife back," he answered.

"But your mother said we had to stay here," objected Sylwanin weakly.

The boy shook his head in disbelief at her stupidity, and calmly climbed down to the ground. He nodded to the two adults – healers from another clan – and bent down to withdraw his knife from the dead tawtute, wiping it clean on the cloth of the human's uniform. His father had always told him never to sheath a dirty knife.

"You are in so much trouble," she shouted down at him.

Stxeli'tstal looked up, a grim expression on his face, before he turned back to the adults. Sylwanin heard him say, "I have to go back up the tree, to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."

The two adults laughed softly, and somehow Sylwanin realised that things would never be quite the same between her and Stxeli'tstal ever again.

* * *

Lewis could feel Schiffer glaring at him – the prick was one of Quaritch's pretty boys. He was certain Schiffer had been planted on him just to make sure Lewis didn't accidentally go over to the Na'vi side. Of course, the fact that Schiffer had unholstered his Wasp pistol was a giveaway.

He called out, "I'm sorry, Kalinkey. I don't have a choice." Lewis made a series of gestures to Schiffer, indicating that he was to work around to the right and outflank the Na'vi woman. Schiffer nodded once. reholstered his sidearm and wriggled backwards. "It doesn't have to be this way."

* * *

Kalinkey shut her eyes for a moment, and leaned back against the tree. How could she do this thing? Lewis was her friend. Faces flashed in her mind's eye – her son, her mate, her sisters of the tsumuke'awsiteng, the myriad faces of the People, both alive and dead, Administrator Zhong, Phred, the Major, Na'dia, until one face settled in her mind. Lissa. Her foster mother had given up everything for her – Lissa would still be alive on 'Rrta if she had not come to Pandora. Kalinkey could not let her sacrifice be in vain.

When Kalinkey opened her eyes again, the world wobbled on its axis disturbingly. She must have lost more blood than she thought. She nocked another arrow on to her bowstring, and half drew it. Her bow arm felt weak, very weak. It looked like she would only get one chance.

* * *

Lewis had been working around to the left of Kalinkey's position. He could see Schiffer out on the opposite flank. It was now or never. "Now!" he shouted, stepping out into the open, in order to flush Kalinkey out from cover.

As the tall Na'vi woman stepped out, drawing her bow, Schiffer rose up, out of the undergrowth, his weapon at the ready. Lewis took aim, firing a three-round burst, just before Kalinkey released her shot. Every one of Lewis' rounds found its target, and Kalinkey fell to her knees.

* * *

Schiffer took one step back, lowering his weapon. Why hadn't he fired? He looked dumbly down, to see three widening bloodstains on the front of his uniform. Why the fuck hadn't he worn his vest? Schiffer only had one more thought, before he crashed to the ground and everything went black. The Colonel had been right. Lewis was a fucking smurf-lover.

* * *

Lewis ran towards Kalinkey. "Sara!" he yelled, forgetting her Na'vi name. "Are you hit?"

Kalinkey dumbly shook her head, surprised to still be alive. "You didn't shoot me," she said wonderingly.

"No," he grinned. "How could I kill my friend Sara the Smurf?"

"But I shot at you," objected Kalinkey.

Lewis chuckled. "You missed."

Kalinkey shook her head again. "Lu'iss, I didn't miss," she said, pointing to a slash in Lewis' uniform six inches below his left arm-pit. A little blood was weeping out of the shallow cut, soaking the camouflage cloth.

He started to say, "It's only a scratch..."

Suddenly, Lewis wrenched off his exo-pack mask, fell to his knees, and vomited explosively. When he wiped his mouth, before he replaced his mask, he saw that his hand was trembling. "Fuck!" he swore. The arrow had been poisoned. He dropped his mask and tried to reach for a pouch on his belt, next to the one holding the Dead Meat Tickets, but his hands were shaking too much to open it. "S-syringe," he said. "A-atropine. Adrenaline. Into h-heart."

Lewis fell sideways to the ground and started to seize.

"Lu'iss!" shouted Kalinkey. She ripped at the pouch, opening it. There was a syringe inside, a syringe with a long needle. Carefully, she removed the plastic needle cover, holding the syringe up to the light, and depressed the plunger slightly, removing a small air bubble. With one hand, she rolled Lewis onto his back, pushing down on his ribcage to stop him convulsing. Kalinkey raised the syringe, and plunged it directly into his chest, right through the sternum and directly into Lewis' heart. As she depressed the plunger, Kalinkey could even now feel his heart slowing.


	44. Chapter 44

Nadia dragged herself out of her bunk, and stumbled into the hab space that rejoiced unjustifiably in the name of the bathroom. There was some kind of furry algae that had colonised the mirror. She knew it wasn't terrestrial in origin – it glowed a soft blue light in the darkness, like the majority of Pandoran plant life. Somehow the algae tolerated the low levels of carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide in the hab module, although the underlying faint stench of rotten-egg gas could never be quite eliminated.

She snapped the light on, grabbed a wet wipe and dragged it across the mirror surface. Nadia's face was gaunt, the translucent skin stretched tight across her high cheekbones. She laughed bitterly, her laughter transforming into hacking coughs. To stop herself from falling, Nadia grabbed the basin, spitting the foul mixture of phlegm and blood out of her mouth.

It looked like her immune system was on its way out – just what her regular blood tests had predicted for the last three weeks. Not that it was any surprise to her – although it would have been a surprise to the medical staff at Hell's Gate. Her falsified test results showed that she was just peachy.

As the water washed the basin clean of the slime, Nadia idly wondered what influence Polyphemus had on the direction the water went down the plughole. She reflected there was definitely one good thing about Pandora – no water rationing - no matter which way the water swirled.

Another good thing was that she liked the flavour of the standard RDA issue toothpaste. It meant even if Nadia was dying she didn't have to suffer the burden of halitosis. Not that there was anyone to notice, although she bet her breath would corrode stainless steel if she missed brushing her teeth.

She sniffed her armpit – it wasn't just her breath that smelt bad.

Fifteen minutes and a long hot shower later Nadia was a lot cleaner, although thanks to the increase in humidity from her shower, the algae had started spreading back across the mirror. Once in the kitchen area, she forced down the gloop the RDA called food, and then drank a litre and half of water laced with electrolytes. Nadia had to maintain the energy to stay in link, otherwise she might as well be dead. Linking with her Avatar was the only reason that was keeping her alive.

When she was starting up the link unit, she caught sight of the system date. Had she dropped a day somewhere? Nadia shook her head – it wasn't possible that she could sleep right through an entire day and night.

Besides, if she hadn't appeared on schedule, Martinez and Chandrasekhar would have called a chopper in, to see if she was alright.

While Nadia was waiting for the link unit to spin up, she desperately hoped she would see her Na'vi visitor tonight. She had cried herself to sleep in disappointment when Txep'ean hadn't appeared last night.

Nadia did not realise that was two nights ago.

* * *

"Saaaa!" screamed Nadia.

It was incredible to wake up feeling so strong and vital, instead of frail. How she longed to be like Sara...to always be Na'vi. Nadia would give up her soul to be one with her Avatar body. She glanced around her, seeing that the Avatars of Chandrasekhar and Martinez were still comatose. She chuckled to herself – they were probably dosing up on caffeine right now.

Nadia almost bounded out of the Avatar quarters, and stopped dead. The air throbbed with the sound of many choppers approaching. She looked up, and saw over a hundred aircraft – Samsons and Scorpions – approaching almost over the top of site thirty-one. What the fuck was going on? There was even a Valkyrie shuttle with a Dragon as close escort. Why was the RDA risking a billion dollar spacecraft by flying it slowly through the Hallelujah Mountains?

She only had to wait a few minutes for an answer.

The choppers flew off into the heart of the Hallelujah Mountains, until they dwindled into toys – toys that flashed into fireballs as hundreds of banshees fell upon them.

It was war.

Now she knew why Txep'ean had not come to her.

* * *

Lewis's eyes opened wide, very wide, and he tried to sit up, screaming, "Yah!"

Almost immediately, he slumped back to the ground. Quickly, Kalinkey replaced his discarded exo-pack and activated the seal, the pulse of oxygen driving out the Pandoran atmosphere from the mask. She quickly checked the counter on the mask – there was enough O2 left in the exo-pack for another five initialisations. It wasn't a problem right now, but he needed to drink water – lots of water. If Lewis did not regain consciousness, she would have to remove his mask and make him drink, rather than sipping it through the exo-pack straw.

There was a simple solution, however. Kalinkey ran between the dead tawtute, removing their exo-pack initialisation cylinders, and checking their pouches for adrenaline/atropine syringes. One injection might not be enough to block the effect of the arrow neurotoxin. She managed to recover three of each – there was nothing that could be recovered from the tawtute crushed by the falling branch.

That sight almost made her throw up. It was with difficulty that she forced down her epiglottis. As she did so, Kalinkey hoped that Lewis would not vomit again – she did not want her friend to die by drowning in his own exo-pack.

When she returned to Lewis, he was stirring. He made to grab her arm, but was too weak to hold it. "B-bruni," he said weakly. "There was one more."

"Another tawtute?" she asked anxiously.

Lewis nodded. "He will designate Tree of Souls as target. He went right. Must stop him."

Kalinkey hesitated. If she left Lewis unattended, he could die.

"Go!" ordered Lewis weakly.

She made a quick decision, dragging Lewis to the nearest tree, and propping him up in a sitting position. Kalinkey removed the protective cap from another syringe, and squeezed out the inevitable air bubble. When she saw his eyes start to close, Kalinkey slapped the side of his head. "Stay awake!" she yelled. "Lu'iss, you must stay awake."

Lewis nodded.

Kalinkey pressed the syringe into one hand, and his Wasp revolver into the other his hand, ordering, "If you hands begin to shake again, inject yourself, and don't die. If nantang come, shoot them."

He grinned weakly, and said, "Irayo. Now go."

* * *

She was not a hunter, but Kalinkey had been taught enough over the years to learn how to track prey. Not that tawtute were difficult to track, and the trail was very short. She was, after all, close to Vitraya Ramunong.

Kalinkey was surprised to find the dead tawtute at the base of a tree – the same tree where she had left Stxeli'tstal and Sylwanin. She was about to call out to the children, when she was interruptedby the roar of aircraft engines. Her combat with the recon patrol had been so intense that Kalinkey had not noticed the main battle coming inexorably closer.

She looked up, and saw a Valkyrie shuttle sliding sideways, one engine burning. It was heading directly for a floating mountain.

"Down!" she screamed. "Get down!"

The few Na'vi near her looked at her strangely, until she followed her own advice, throwing herself on the ground and placing her hands over her ears.

There was a loud tearing sound when the shuttle struck the rock, followed shortly afterwards by a colossal detonation. She heard the sound of flying debris whooshing through the air with great velocity, thudding as it struck trees or fell to the ground.

A few seconds later she leapt to her feet, and watched in awe as a huge ball of flame rose into the air. It seemed that the tawtute had suffered a major setback.

The sky was strangely empty of both flying machines and ikran, and the sound of firearms grew distant. Perhaps the humans were being driven back from ZVitraya Ramunong, and the battle drawing to a close.

If so, now would come her busy time. But first, before the wounded came, Kalinkey had to find out what her son and the daughter of Zha'nelle had been doing, and why there was a dead tawtute at the base of their tree. No doubt that wold be most enlightening.

* * *

It did not take long for the wounded to come trickling in – the less injured walking in under their own steam, others carried in by the uninjured.

Kalinkey was suddenly very busy. As she treated each patient, she asked for news of Tsawlontu, Zha'nelle and Mìnkxetse. The first piece of good news arrived about an hour after the wounded started trickling in, when Kalinkey was examining a wounded male from the Ikran people – someone had already treated a shrapnel wound on his thigh, and she recognised Zha'nelle's neat needlework closing the long incision. He confirmed that an Omaticaya woman with five-fingered hands had cleaned and closed the wound. He said that she seemed well, if very sad.

At least one of those who were precious to Kalinkey was still alive, she thought. As the sun travelled across the sky, she saw other evidence of Zha'nelle's work, but there was no news of either Tsawlontu or Mìnkxetse. Kalinkey was starting to worry.

Slowly, the news trickled in, of those who died, and those who survived. She heard of the death of Tsu'tey, and the rising of the children of Eywa against the tawtute. She heard how the Toruk Makto and his mate had gathered many of the unwounded to sweep on to the tawtute place called Hell's Gate. It seemed that the Na'vi had won this battle, thanks to the grace of Eywa.

There was also the strange sight of Na'vi escorting tawtute prisoners.

One of the tawtute brought in was a rather groggy Lewis. A Tipani warrior carried him in his arms right up to Kalinkey, who was engaged in extracting a bullet out of a woman's left buttock with a pair of bone forceps she had borrowed. They were not as good as the forceps she had lost in the Fall of Kelutrel.

"I think this tawtute belongs to you," said the warrior. "He said is name is Lu'iss."

She lost her grip on the bullet because of the interruption, making the woman scream in agony. She turned in fury and shouted, "Do you have the smarts of a lonataya, skxawng? Look at what you have made me do! This woman will suffer much pain because you have the brains of riti shit."

"But the tawtute said he belongs to you," objected the warrior, his hackles rising because no-one had called him riti shit since the first time he went on a talioang hunt. "He still had his weapon."

"I gave it back to him, skxawng, so he would not be eaten by nantang," snapped a very irritated Kalinkey.

Lewis raised his head, and said in very fluent Na'vi, "I told you she would say this, riti shit."

"Stop calling me that," snapped the warrior.

"What would you prefer to be called?" asked Lu'iss calmly. "Ass-wipe? Snot-nose? Nantang-fucker? Teylu-dick?"

"That's it," shouted the warrior angrily. "You can keep him." He dropped Lewis to the ground, making the tawtute grunt in surprise.

"You should not have done that," growled Kalinkey angrily. "Apologise to Lu'iss."

"A tawtute? Never," laughed the warrior.

"Bad move," commented Lewis, as he struggled to sit up. "Do as the woman says. It will hurt less, toe-cheese."

The Tipani went for his knife, clearly intending to kill Lewis. The next thing he knew was that the world spun around crazily, and somehow he ended up face down in the dirt, Kalinkey's foot in the middle of his back.

"Apologise," ordered Kalinkey. "To Lu'iss, and to this woman."

"No," said the warrior through a mouthful of dirt.

Kalinkey shrugged. He had been warned. She gave his arm a little twist, and heard the shoulder joint pop out. The warrior screamed in apparent agony, and she released him, helping him back to his feet. "Now go wait over there," she ordered him. "I will treat your shoulder when I have finished with the deserving wounded."

With tears of pain streaming down his cheeks, he nodded meekly.

"Wait," said Kalinkey. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his useless arm dangling by his side.

She figured that this was about the best she could expect from such a skxawng. "Good," she said. "Never interrupt a healer treating a patient again." She turned on Lewis, and snapped, "You didn't help at all, skxawng."

Lewis began to chuckle. "You sound exactly like Akwey."

Kalinkey snorted in derision. Her voice sounded nothing like that of Akwey. His voice had been much deeper than hers. She turned back to the woman she had been treating. "I am sorry for the pain that skxawng caused you," she apologised.

"It will be well," said the woman. "I do not think he will interrupt a healer ever again. Please proceed."

The bullet came out easily at her next attempt.

* * *

It was after dusk. Kalinkey and the other healers had treated the most seriously injured, and she even had time to address the shoulder of the irritating Tipani warrior. He had been very respectful.

She was chewing on a strip of dried fruit, resting for a moment when she saw two familiar Na'vi approach. Kalinkey cried out, "Tsawlontu!" He was being guided by her sister Zha'nelle – he must have wounded somehow, but she could not immediately tell – any wound could not be too bad. Eagerly, she ran towards the two Na'vi.

When there was no corresponding greeting from her mate, Kalinkey slowed suddenly, and her heart leapt into her mouth. Her mate was missing his hand and half of his left forearm.

"I'm sorry," said Zha'nelle grimly. "I had no choice but to remove it."

Kalinkey shut her eyes in pain. Her mate – he would be shattered at the loss of his hand. Tsawlontu was proud to be a hunter, and this would be a devastating loss. How could Kalinkey help him through this? When she opened her eyes, she said simply, "Thank you for returning Tsawlontu to me."

Zha'nelle's mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "I thought you might want the useless layabout back."

Kalinkey nodded slowly. "I am sorry that you had to be the one to do this, my sister. It must have cost you greatly."

"It did," she replied. Zha'nelle took a shuddering breath, looked down at her feet and back at Kalinkey, asking, "Is Sylwanin well?"

"She is asleep," said Kalinkey. She had checked on the two children before she started to eat. "But..."

Zha'nelle swallowed nervously. It seemed she knew exactly what Kalinkey was about to tell her.

"...No-one has seen Mìnkxetse."


	45. Chapter 45

Kalinkey stared at Tsawlontu, anxiously waiting for his awareness to return. Zha'nelle had used a drug on him that she had come across by accident, one that made a Na'vi like a puppet, without pain or consciousness or motivation, capable of basic movements, but nothing else. It seemed to work much like a human anaesthetic from a surgical perspective, but without the depressive effect on respiration of most such drugs.

It was like watching a statue, or perhaps one of the funny animatronic robots that were popular on Earth during the early twenty-first century. Tsawlontu had no expression on his face, and every forty-three seconds – Kalinkey was counting every one – he would blink. The first sign of his return was a twitch in the corner of his eye, followed by a slight jerk of his head.

He blinked again, and said slowly, "Ma'Kalinkey."

She smiled at her mate, saying, "You are returned to me."

Tsawlontu smiled back at Kalinkey. "My left arm hurts..."

He looked down at his arm, a disbelieving expression crossing his face. "It is gone." Tsawlontu continued to stare at the stump, his shoulders slowly slumping.

Kalinkey tried to say, "More than half of it is still there."

"I cannot hold a bow," said Tsawlontu in a terrible monotone, and turned away from his mate.

A red veil descended on Kalinkey. She spun Tsawlontu around, swung her open hand and slapped his face. Hard.

Kalinkey snarled, "Body is nothing. Spirit is everything."

* * *

The distant swirling of banshees and choppers between the floating mountains was like some danse macabre, played to a score consisting only of the percussion of explosions. There was no exit stage left or right, thought Nadia, only a fall to the forest floor, wreathed in flames. She could almost see the dancers, clad in filmy wisps of red, yellow and orange.

Nadia could not tear her eyes away from the dreadful sight.

There was only one grace for the scene she was witnessing. The dance did not last that long.

One of the banshees was flying towards site thirty-one, directly towards Nadia, as though she was the target. Its rider had slipped from his normal position, his legs dangling to either side of banshee's neck. It was only through clutching the beast's neck that the Na'vi did not fall.

The banshee shrieked as it landed on top of the hab module, flapping its wings and damaging some of the roof mounted equipment. It was only as the rider slid off the banshee, leaving a long smear of blood that Nadia recognised the rider. "Txep'ean!" she shouted.

Nadia scrambled up on to the hab module roof, ignoring the shrieking banshee. Two fingers against the wounded Na'vi's neck showed that his heart was still beating. "Shit!" she swore. Why the fuck did her Avatar have to be so small, and Txep'ean so big? She tried picking the Na'vi up in her arms, and then realised that she couldn't climb down – both her hands were too busy. Over the shoulder had exactly the same problem – no hands, no climbing.

There was only one option left.

So she rolled Txep'ean's limp body off the roof.

Oh, she tried to land him in a patch of bracken-like plants, to break his fall. And he mostly landed in where she wanted, but when he hit the ground and cried out in pain, Nadia winced in sympathy. At least Txep'ean was so out of it he would probably never remember what she did to him.

Once he was down from the roof, it wasn't too hard to get him into the Avatar quarters, when Nadia faced the next challenge - lifting the warrior on to the dining table so she could treat his wounds. The only problem was that it was filled with clutter, so she dropped the limp Na'vi to the floor, making him groan again.

"Suck it up, princess," she growled, sweeping the accumulated crap off the table. This time she lifted Txep'ean up on her shoulder, and virtually threw him on to the table, eliciting yet another moan. Just as well there was a portable diagnostic unit tuned to Na'vi metabolisms at all the remote sites with link units. Clearly, the RDA did not want to skimp on preserving the asset value of the Avatars.

The diagnostic unit showed that Txep'ean had been incredibly lucky. No organs had been hit or bones broken by the passage of the two bullets through his body, although he had lost a lot of blood. What was even better, the unit reported that there were no foreign bodies lodged in the wounds. Nadia sighed with relief – she really did not want to probe around in the wounds fishing out scraps of cloth. There was something to be said for going to war in minimal clothing, if one was going to be wounded. All she had to do was to put three units of synthetic Avatar blood into Txep'ean, patch up the wounds with keratin dressings, and let nature take its course.

As long as she kept him quiet, hydrated and fed, there should be no problems.

Except there was one problem, but it wasn't with Txep'ean.

A sudden wave of weariness swept over her, and she started to see the tunnel of light that signified the end of a link. By sheer force of will, Nadia managed to thrust the weakness of her human body aside to stay in her Avatar.

She didn't have a choice. The table was too high to reach Txep'ean if she was in her human body.

There was no way Nadia was going to let this Na'vi die.

No way.

* * *

Tsawlontu held his right hand to his cheek, staring back at his mate.

Good, thought Kalinkey. Letting her mate disappear into a puddle of self-pity was not an option.

"Why did you say that?" asked Tsawlontu slowly.

Kalinkey shrugged. "You weren't listening to me. I do not like being ignored."

Her heart skipped a beat or two when he gave her a half smile. "At least you are not throwing crocks at me," he quipped.

She half-smiled back. "Our son has been waiting for you to return from battle. Come," she ordered, taking hold of his right hand.

* * *

There were many wounded to attend, of which Tsawlontu was only one. Both Zha'nelle and Kalinkey were kept busy, fighting to keep them alive.

After a day or two recovering from the effects of the neurotoxin, Lewis trailed around after the two healers, talking to many of the warriors. It did not seem to matter that he was tawtute. When some of the males complained about the two women's roughness, he told them that they had nothing to complain about, and boasted that Kalinkey had shot him. Lewis claimed that she had done it purely to practice her healing crafts on tawtute, and if they weren't careful she would do the same to them.

"You lie," accused Kalinkey, after they left one wounded warrior.

Lewis laughed at the smile on her face, and shrugged. "I am tawtute," he replied. "We are not known for telling the truth."

Kalinkey frowned. Lewis was tawtute, and if Lewis said tawtute didn't tell the truth, then he probably was lying about not telling the truth -which meant that he was lying, but if he was lying then he could not have been telling the truth about lying. Kalinkey started to go cross-eyed and her head spun as her mind turned around and around in circles.

"Seriously, though," said Lewis. "By telling a warrior that you might shoot him for practice, he will stop worrying about his wounds and be more concerned about being shot. The distraction will stop him from falling into a depression, and will help him recover more quickly."

Yanking her mind away from the conundrum of tawtute truthfulness, Kalinkey admitted, "I had not thought of it like that."

"Sometimes you think too much, my sister," commented Zha'nelle. "You tie yourself in tangles of thought, and do not consider a simple explanation."

"I cannot help it," answered Kalinkey. "Complicated patterns are...pretty."

Lewis chuckled. "You haven't changed since you tagged the maintenance bay with your maths homework."

"Maintenance bay?" queried Zha'nelle. "That was you?"

"Some of it," replied Kalinkey. "Not the pictures of the people." She turned to Lewis to ask, "Is my work still there?"

He shook his head. "Quaritch ordered it painted over. Was it important?"

"It was interesting," said Kalinkey, reluctant to say more. It was good that her solution for the Riemann hypothesis was no longer visible.

Zha'nelle saw her hesitation, and asked, "Why?"

Kalinkey struggled briefly with her conscience. "I can't remember exactly," she lied, for the first time in her life. She knew very well that her solution modelled the information flows between the plants of this world, explaining how Eywa could be. No, not how she could be - how Eywa was. "It was a long while ago."

Zha'nelle looked curiously at her sister. She knew very well that Kalinkey never forgot anything. Zha'nelle did not need to be looking at Kalinkey's face to know she was lying. The nervous flicks of her tail betrayed her.

Lewis did not notice.

* * *

"Why did you not tell truth to Lu'iss?" demanded Zha'nelle. Unarmed Samson choppers had come to retrieve the tawtute prisoners, including Lewis.

A strange hotness ran through Kalinkey's veins. Was this guilt? "I could not tell him," she replied. There was a distinct silence from her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng. It seemed Zha'nelle wanted much more explanation that Kalinkey had been prepared to give. "The equations," added Kalinkey, "They tell how Eywa lives."

"That does not seem so important," said Zha'nelle, a line appearing between her brows.

"It is very important," explained Kalinkey. "With this knowledge, the tawtute would know how to destroy our mother."

"What?" hissed Zha'nelle. "Why have you never said?"

She replied, "I did not understand it for many years. When I did, it was after the tawtute thought I was dead, and I could not return to Hell's Gate." Kalinkey bit her lower lip before adding, "If I tried to remove my equations, the tawtute might become interested in them, and realise what could be done."

"Kalinkey!" called out a male voice. Both women turned around to see the new olo'eyktan. "I wish to have words with you."

Before Zha'nelle drifted away, she murmured, "You should tell him. Or Mo'at."

"Oel ngati kameie, Zhake'soolly," said Kalinkey respectfully. Even though he was still a dreamwalker who mangled Na'vi speech atrociously, Zhake deserved her respect for leading the Omaticaya – no, the Na'vi – through the war with the humans.

Zhake nodded at her. He said, "I have news for you." The expression on his face was grim, but it was only to be expected. The Omaticaya had suffered much at the hands of the humans, and though they had been defeated, the clan had not rejoiced.

"Yes, Zhake," she prompted. When Kalinkey saw his jaw tense, she added, "Speak in 'Ìnglìsì, if it is easier. I do not mind."

His expression lightened a little, but still Zhake did not smile. "I talked to the Avatar team at Hell's Gate," he said in English. "Before the battle, the humans sent a chopper to retrieve Nadia Khudoshin from her research site. The pilot could not find her. They think she is dead."

There was nothing she could say but, "Oh."

Zhake rushed on, "I asked the Avatar team to call the site – number thirty-one – but there was no response, not even from the automatic systems." He sighed. "They promised to send out a chopper to look, when they can."

Kalinkey said slowly, "Irayo."

"I'm sorry," said Zhake. "I have failed your trust."

"Na'dia is not dead," said Kalinkey. "Eywa would tell me." She placed a hand on his arm, affirming, "You have not failed in this, not yet."

It was strange. Zhake'soolly, the Toruk Makto, looked at her with some disbelief, as though he could not believe that Eywa sometimes spoke in a voice that one could hear. "How is Tsawlontu?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"He is sad," admitted Kalinkey. "Tsawlontu lost his hand, and his ikran. I think he feels less than a man." She sighed. "It will be some time, I think, before he will be well with himself."

Zhake nodded. "I have been where Tsawlontu is now. It is a very hard place to be." He looked down at his feet, as though he was remembering something from a long time ago, before he raised his head again. "Not all the humans will be leaving this world. I am sure they can make a prosthetic hand for him – the stereolithography plant is still functioning."

Hope rose in Kalinkey's breast.

"I discussed this with Zha'nelle before I unlinked last night," said Zhake. "She was the one who suggested it to me."

"She said nothing of this to me," said Kalinkey, smiling broadly for the first time since the battle.

The olo'eyktan chuckled. "That sounds like your sister," he said slyly.


	46. Chapter 46

"Kaltxi, Txep'ean," murmured Nadia, smiling down at the wounded Na'vi. He had come around briefly yesterday, and tried to get up. She had taken matters into her own hands and sedated him into insensibility.

"Na'dia," he greeted. "I See you."

"I am glad that your eyes are now open," said Nadia. "I was worried." When he tried to sit up, she placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him on the table. "No, Txep'ean. You must rest, until you heal."

He tried to chuckle, but ended up coughing. "I am afraid you are a little stronger than me today," said Txep'ean eventually. He looked curiously about, seeing the strangeness of this place. "Where are we?"

"In a tawtute building, on the floating mountain where we first met," she answered. "There are no others here – humans, dreamwalkers or Na'vi."

"It is different to Hometree," noted Txep'ean. The Na'vi quarters at site thirty-one was a smaller version of the Hell's Gate longhouse – the standard hab module was just too small for Na'vi. "The battle..." he started.

Nadia shook her head. "I don't know what happened – there has been no contact from Hell's Gate." She had tried all communications channels –voice, video, e-mail – but it seemed Txep'ean's banshee had damaged some of the roof-mounted equivalent. Every instrument she had showed that Hell's Gate was not responding. "I have not seen any ikran riders either."

Txep'ean saw Nadia sway suddenly on her feet, as though she was about to faint. He even saw Nadia's eyes roll back briefly. A wave of tiredness had swept over her, as her body in the link unit tried to assert its precedence over her will. "Are you well?"

"It is nothing," she asserted, making a horizontal chopping gesture with her left hand. "You must eat and drink to regain your strength."

"Very well," he agreed. A few days should see him able to regain his feet.

* * *

Tsawlontu's stump was healing well, thought Kalinkey. There was no sign of infection, and the wound was granulating nicely.

"How is it?" asked Tsawlontu, as Kalinkey smeared the orange healing resin back over the wound. It was strange. He could still feel his fingers, even though they were no longer there.

"You will not need a dressing after the resin peels off in about a week," she replied.

"Good."

Kalinkey looked up at her mate's face. "You should be able to wear the prosthesis in about a month."

"I do not recognise this tawtute word," said Tsawlontu. "What does it mean?"

"The tawtute are making a hand for you, like the hands on the walking machines," replied Kalinkey. "Zha'nelle has been talking to Toktor Max Patel. She has said she will teach you how to use it."

There were several moments of dead silence, until Tsawlontu said firmly, "No. I will not have a tawtute machine, to do what my body should. It is wrong."

"But..." started Kalinkey.

"No," he interrupted. "I will not permit it."

She looked at the grim set of her mate's jaw. This was not something she could fix by throwing crocks at his head, or by seducing him. Kalinkey had never seen Tsawlontu like this. She sighed softly. "There are not enough drugs and medicines to treat the injured." The other clans had taken those wounded who could be moved back to their homes, leaving only the Omaticaya wounded and those who were more seriously injured behind. "Zha'nelle is caring for those that remain, but I need more supplies for the months ahead." Kalinkey had rationalised that if Zha'nelle was kept very busy with the wounded, then she would have less time to worry about Mìnkxetse. Neither his body nor that of his ikran had yet been found.

"What are you saying, Kalinkey?" asked Tsawlontu.

"I need to take some of the women to an outcamp tomorrow, to make more medicines," she said. "We cannot rely on the charity of the other clans."

Tsawlontu nodded slowly. "That sounds sensible."

"I am glad you think so," replied Kalinkey. "I want you to come with me to the outcamp."

"Why?" he asked. "I have no use now."

Kalinkey's eyes flashed with a sudden rage, and she turned away, looking down at the Tree of Souls. "I wish to make sure your wound heals properly, and there are things I need you to do."

"Like what?" snapped Tsawlontu.

"Tend the fires, and help me with some of the work," she said calmly. "You organise hunting parties well, so you can do the same for the outcamp."

'That is not man's work," he snarled.

"What of our son?" she growled back. "Would you deny him his father? What of Stxeli'tstal?"

Kalinkey turned back towards Tsawlontu. From his stricken expression it seemed she had penetrated his armour of anguish and loss. They stood, staring at each other, and it was not Kalinkey who broke the long silence. Tsawlontu said, "You are right. I will come with you to the outcamp, with our son."

In her joy, Kalinkey entirely forgot that she had not told either Mo'at or Zhake of her equations.

* * *

She was tired.

Actually, Nadia was beyond tired. She longed to just stop. Not to die, just to stop and sleep, and dream.

But she could not. Txep'ean was relying on her.

The total absence of contact with Hell's Gate – not even a chopper overflight – had led her to the realisation that the Na'vi had defeated the RDA completely. She doubted that the Na'vi would have massacred them. It did not strike her that they were ruthless enough to take that step. Instead, Nadia supposed that the humans would evacuate back into orbit. After all, there was a starship up there right now.

This would not have been the decision that Nadia would make. Knowing what she knew of humanity, Nadia would have exterminated every human on Pandora, and permanently removed any sign of human presence.

After all, Nadia was human, wasn't she?

She had come to the reluctant conclusion that Martinez and Chandrasekhar would never need their Avatars again. That was why Nadia had just finished dragging the flaccid shells outside, after she had injected them with lethal doses of sedative. Somehow, it did not seem right that these Avatars should end in drugged sleep, even though neither of them were warriors.

The short sword that she had just drawn was still ringing softly. She gazed down at its keen edge gleaming in the sunlight, and sighed. This was the fitting thing to do.

Afterwards, when she was walking away from the blood-stained grass, Nadia found herself on her hands and knees, with no clear recollection of how she got there. She crawled up the steps into the hut, and collapsed on the floor in the doorway. She could do no more, not in her Avatar.

* * *

When she woke in the link unit, Nadia had only one thought. The end was near.

At least she had danced again. The promise that Sara had made to her in the forest under the dome all those years ago had been kept. If only...if only she had been able to see Sara again.

Nadia pressed the release, allowing the link unit to open smoothly. It seemed that at least some human technology was still working as it should, unlike the communication links. The stench of her unwashed body, dirty clothes, and the detritus of packaged meals hurriedly eaten filled her nose. It was not a pleasant smell, not like the forest outside.

That wasn't right. In her human body, the air that was so fresh in the nostrils of her Avatar smelled of nothing other than rotten eggs. Despite the effectiveness of the hab module environmental unit, the faint underlying odour of hydrogen sulphide was ever-present.

It was difficult to get to her feet. Her legs seemed to be made of nothing other than india-rubber. At least she didn't hurt anymore. Nadia was too tired to feel pain. Her mouth, though, tasted of bitter liquid metal.

Nadia coughed and hacked, spitting up congealing blood, splattering it over the floor.

There was one thing she had to do, one thing before she stopped.

As Nadia reached for an exo-pack, she automatically checked the state of the filters, and the oxygen initialisation cylinder. Not that it was really necessary - she only needed a little more time. When the seal hissed close, Nadia shut her eyes and took a deep breath. The stench of the hab module had been replaced by the slightly rubbery smell of machine-cleaned air.

She vaguely remembered recycling the airlock, and stumbling over to the Avatar hut, but the first coherent thought she had was tripping over her Avatar.

"Who are you?" demanded Txep'ean's voice.

Nadia saved herself from falling by grabbing at the door frame."Txep'ean," she said, as she looked across the room to him. He had swung his legs around and was sitting on the edge of the table, the look of suspicion on his face at seeing her tawtute face replaced by recognition.

"I have never seen your tawtute body," said Txep'ean. He tilted his head to one side and examined her from the top of her head to her toes. "Oel ngati kameie, Na'dia."

She could not help but smile."I See you, Txep'ean."

"Why are you not here as a...dreamwalker?" he asked.

Nadia shook her head once. She found it difficult to say the words that she must say. "You must return to your people," she said. "I can no longer care for you."

"Are you sending me away, Na'dia?" he asked sadly.

"Yes," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "My tawtute body is failing, and I will die with it. I'm sorry, Txep'ean, but you must go."

It was not like falling down the tunnel of light. Instead, the interior of the hut faded to grey as she slid down the doorframe, and collapsed over her Avatar. The last thing she felt before the black consumed her was the gentle caress of her Avatar exhaling as the air washed over her left hand.

* * *

It had been the right thing to take Tsawlontu to the outcamp.

Though he had often been sad during the three weeks they had spent there, Kalinkey had kept him busy helping her, and chasing after Stxeli'tstal. Last night, they had even made tsahaylu together.

Kalinkey knew it was going to be difficult, but with the grace of Eywa, Tsawlontu's spirit would recover. If only she could the stubborn male to agree to wear the tawtute prosthetic hand, once it was finished.

She felt tears prick at her eyes. Perhaps, if they were very lucky, even now a child might be growing within her body. That might change her mate's mind.

"Look," said Tsawlontu, pointing with his stump. "We are almost there."

He had pointed with his stump, as he was otherwise burdened with a large basket containing some of the drugs and lotions she had prepared.

Tsawlontu was tight. She could see the Omaticaya camp around Vitraya Ramunong. Nadia's eyes narrowed as she observed one of the sentries. "Is that...?"

"It's my rotten sod of a brother," laughed Tsawlontu. He dropped the basket and called out, "Mìnkxetse!"

* * *

"Where were you?" demanded Tsawlontu. "Zha'nelle was worried sick."

His brother looked embarrassed. "I overflew my ikran running from a kunsip," he said. "It took a couple of weeks for her wing muscles to recover. I was stuck on a floating mountain with no way down, with nothing to eat but uncooked teylu."

"But you love teylu," teased Tsawlontu.

Mìnkxetse grumbled, "Not any more. My lips will never touch another teylu, not in all my life."

"You could always swallow them whole," continued Tsawlontu.

"How is Zha'nelle?" asked Kalinkey pointedly.

Mìnkxetse made a face. "I have heard a catalogue of my extensive failings as a mate and father for the last week, day in, day out. I expect this to continue for some time."

"Ah," said Tsawlontu. "So she was very pleased to see you."

"Srane," grinned his brother, and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Men!" snorted Kalinkey. However, she did note that Mìnkxetse had made no reference to Tsawlontu's missing hand. Perhaps this was part of the mysterious male bonding process that she had discussed many times with her sister Zha'nelle.

"You missed all the excitement yesterday," said Mìnkxetse, as he took Kalinkey's basket and slung it over his shoulder.

"What excitement?" asked Tsawlontu.

"There was a female dreamwalker who passed through the Eye of Eywa," started the brother of her mate. "Her tawtute body was dying, so Txep'ean and I brought her to this place to save her. But it turned out she was possessed by the spirit of a palulukan, and lost the power of speech. The Tsahik expelled her from the clan."

"Oh?" said Kalinkey. She was much more interested in ensuring that Zha'nelle's mate was healthy and undamaged – he did look a little thin. Na'vi clearly could not live by teylu alone. She asked incuriously, "What was her name?"

"Na'diakhudoshin," replied Mìnkxetse.

"WHAT!" screamed Kalinkey, grabbing at his arm, and sinking her nails deep into his flesh, making him wince. "Did you say Na'diakhudoshin?"

"Srane," agreed Mìnkxetse nervously, wondering if Kalinkey was going to start throwing things at him. When she screamed like that at his brother, it was usually only a few seconds before large hard objects became airborne. However, his misgivings were misplaced.

Abruptly Kalinkey released his arm and cursed, "Wiya! I must see Mo'at."


	47. Chapter 47

Nadia – no, her name was Na'dia now – stood at the very crown of the young hometree she had found. It soared far above the canopy of the forest, impossibly high, swaying gently in the stuff breeze.

From what she had seen in holovids, this hometree was nowhere as large as Kelutrel, the lost home of the Omaticaya. Even then, it was more than large enough for one who had grown up in the city of Kiev. Na'dia was sure that there had been few buildings in her birthplace that stood higher than this tree.

If she looked carefully, Na'dia could see the soaring arches above Vitraya Ramunong, where the Omaticaya still lingered. She sighed. Despite falling into lust with both Txep'ean and his sister Ninat, it seemed Na'dia was destined to be alone.

It seemed Na'dia had both the best of luck and the worst of luck. She survived Kiev, at the cost of horrific injuries. She escaped her dying tawtute body and being eaten by a palulukan, only to be expelled from the Omaticaya clan. She learnt how to See Eywa, and become as one with her, but lost the power of speech.

At least she could still sign.

Not that there was anyone who could understand sign language on Pandora.

Na'dia tilted her head to one side. She was wrong. There was one other person on the planet who could sign. As far as she knew, Max Patel had not been expelled with the rest of the RDA. From what she had heard, he had assaulted the control room during the battle with a mechanised brushcutter. Ney'tiri had mentioned that some of the Avatars and support team had overcome the garrison, and as a result of their actions been allowed to remain on Pandora. One of them was even a Marine who had fought in the battle – on the wrong side. Ney'tiri had mentioned his name was Lu'iss, or something like that.

Perhaps Max might appreciate a visit. After all, she doubted that any of the remaining tawtute at Hell's Gate knew she was alive. Na'dia smiled evilly. It would be amusing to see the expression on Max's face.

It would be even more amusing introducing Max to her new sensei. Na'dia closed her eyes and felt for the distinctive life-spark of the palulukan who had gifted her with the awareness of Eywa. She was about five clicks away, stalking a talioang herd.

The palulukan would be interested in inspecting Hell's Gate. Na'dia was sure of it.

Na'dia walked out on a slim branch, balanced precariously over empty space. There was a vine hanging from there, falling almost all the way to the ground. She hooked an ankle around the vine, and let go, slithering head first at great speed for the ground.

It was simple to use one hand to slow herself as she approached the end of the vine. A lazy half-somersault saw her land cat-like on the ground. Na'dia growled softly to herself with pleasure. Perhaps being possessed by the spirit of a palulukan wasn't all that bad.

It was then that a wistful thought passed through her consciousness for the umpteenth time since passing through the Eye of Eywa.

If only Sara had been there at Vitraya Ramunong, however fleetingly. Na'dia wanted to see her again, so much, even if she couldn't speak to her.

* * *

"You sent her away," accused Kalinkey.

Mo'at was momentarily confused – the healer had barged into the tent of the Tsahik without any of the normal formalities. "What?" she asked.

"Na'dia. You sent her away," repeated Kalinkey hotly.

"She was possessed by an evil spirit," replied Mo'at. "It was essential for the safety of the clan."

Kalinkey shut her eyes and squeezed her hands into fists. "She was called by Eywa, from 'Rrta," she said finally, trying to keep her voice calm.

"How do you know this?" asked Mo'at suspiciously. "You were not here when this woman passed through the Eye of Eywa, or when she revealed she had been possessed by the spirit of a palulukan."

"She was my friend, on 'Rrta, before I came to this world," replied Kalinkey. She opened her eyes to gaze directly into those of the Tsahik. "Na'dia taught me how to be strong. She is not evil. Na'dia never has been evil. Eywa knows this – she knew Na'dia before she ever came to this world."

The Tsahik was struck by the purity of Kalinkey's eyes, of the total belief that the healer had in what she said. For a brief moment, Mo'at was almost swayed from what she most firmly believed. "No," she stated. "This woman admitted that she carried the spirit of an evil one. She had even lost the power of speech. There is no place in the clan for one such as her. She is fortunate that the clan did not put her to death."

"How can you say such a thing?" demanded Kalinkey incredulously. "A palulukan saved the children at the school. Your own daughter Ney'tiri rode a palulukan to victory against the tawtute war-leader, though it cost the beast its life."

Mo'at's vision flared red, and there was a crack as her hard-swung hand slapped Kalinkey's cheek. "Do not question me, tawtute," she snarled. "The palulukan did not save Sylwanin. No palulukan saved Eytukan, or the many that fell with him at Kelutrel."

Kalinkey held one hand against her bruised face. "You struck me," she said in amazement. Kalinkey repeated, "You struck me."

"Leave!" commanded Mo'at. "Else I strike you again."

It was an unprovoked attack – Kalinkey knew this. A rule had been broken, and there was only one response that she could make. She would not be a victim, not even to the Tsahik of the Omaticaya. "I call challenge," she said slowly, knowing that what she was doing was a terrible thing, but she had no choice.

This time it was Mo'at who shrieked in disbelief. "You cannot challenge me," she cried out. "I am Tsahik."

"What is all the noise about?" asked a male voice. It was the new olo'eyktan – Zhake'soolly – entering the tent of the Tsahik.

"I have called challenge on the Tsahik," said Kalinkey.

She had to give Zhake'soolly credit. He did not shriek, or shout, or wave his arms in the air. Instead, his face instantly set in a grim expression, and he spoke a single word. "Why?" He saw Mo'at open her mouth, and held up one hand to forestall. "I would hear the words of Kalinkey first, ma'sa'nok," he said calmly.

"The Tsahik struck me without provocation, and called me tawtute, because I objected to the expulsion of Na'diakhudoshin," explained Kalinkey. "I am Omaticaya, as she knows full well."

"She was born tawtute," snapped Mo'at. It seemed that the mother of his mate was trying to shock him by her little revelation, as Kalinkey did not show any of the characteristics of a former dreamwalker. Mo'at did not know the woman had told Zhake of her origins herself.

The Tsahik was surprised when Zhake'soolly – the mate of her daughter - glared at her and reproved her, "So was I." He sighed despairingly, thinking he could do without this right now. There were a million things he should be doing, and this was not one of them. "Do you deny striking Kalinkey?" he asked.

"This woman questioned my authority," stated Mo'at, a tiny note of uncertainty entering her voice. Perhaps she had overstepped the mark.

"Did this happen before the clan?" asked Zhake'soolly, turning towards the healer. "Were the words you spoke in private?"

"There were no others present," said Kalinkey.

Zhake frowned deeply. His entire future as olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya was hanging in the balance, based on what he decided here and now. He said, "This is very serious, ma'sa'nok. Kalinkey's challenge is valid. You offered insult to her, while she did not dispute your authority as Tsahik before the clan, instead offering her objection in private. This is her right as one of the clan."

Mo'at swallowed nervously. She well remembered how easily Kalinkey had bested Tsawlontu, a trained warrior, even when she was unarmed and he was not. A valid challenge meant that she would have to fight Kalinkey before the whole clan. "But I am Tsahik!" she protested half-heartedly.

The expression on Zhake's face could not be called a smile. His lips were too thin and tight for it to be a smile, despite the slight curve of his mouth. "Even the Tsahik and the olo'eyktan are bound by the laws and customs of the clan," he said. "It is even more important that we abide by these laws, for if we do not, how can we expect others not to do the same?"

The mate of her daughter Ney'tiri was right. Mo'at had no option other than to nod in agreement.

"However," said Zhake, "I dislike trial by combat. It proves nothing other than who is stronger. If Kalinkey is prepared to accept your apology," he said, raising an eyebrow, "This matter need go no further."

Kalinkey nodded in agreement. She did not wish to fight the Tsahik. But a rule was a rule was a rule.

Mo'at's lips thinned - a sure sign of suppressed anger. "Very well, Zhake," she said reluctantly. "I will do as you wish, for the good of the clan in this troubled time." She turned towards Kalinkey and said stiffly, "I was wrong to strike you, and call you tawtute."

It was not much of an apology, thought Kalinkey, but it satisfied the demands of the rule of challenge. "Irayo, Tsahik," she acknowledged. "I forgive your trespass."

"Good," said Zhake, apparently satisfied with the outcome of this problem. "Now tell me what this was about."

"I wished to protest the expulsion of Na'diakhudoshin from the clan," rushed Kalinkey, before the Tsahik could open her mouth.

The olo'eyktan spoke one word. "Why?"

"Na'dia is not like others, tawtute or Na'vi," replied Kalinkey. "She was as a sister to me, on 'Rrta, in the forest under the dome, before she was ever uniltìranyu. Even then she burned with passion and wildness and love. Eywa called to her, to come to this world, through me, although I do not know why." Kalinkey shivered as she remembered Eywa whispering the message to her, as she stood over Na'dia's burnt and bleeding body at Chernobyl, compelling her to write the message on the clipboard. "All I knew was that she must come."

"You have never spoken of this," accused Mo'at.

A tear trickled down Kalinkey's face. "I was not permitted to tell you, Tsahik, until now. Our mother said it was necessary."

"Shit," swore Zhake in English. Since he had passed through the Eye of Eywa, he had been wondering about the dreams he had in the VA hospital, back on Earth. Perhaps it had been Eywa, even then, choosing him to be Toruk Makto. From what the clan healer had just said, he bet that She was expecting more trouble from humanity, from the tawtute. "I think, ma'sanok, in time we will be reconsidering the expulsion of Na'dia."

"The clan is not ready for this," warned Mo'at. Her words did not speak of opposition, merely caution.

Zhake gave a particularly boyish grin, quipping, "I know, but I did say 'in time'."

Kalinkey swallowed nervously. "There is something else I must tell you – both of you."

"What is it?" asked Zhake. He wasn't sure he was up to any more surprises today.

As she told of the equations she had scrawled on the maintenance bay, all those years ago, the faces of the olo'eyktan and Tsahik of the Omaticaya became grimmer and grimmer.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Sergeant Vitello," said Zhong. "It has been too long since we last talked."

"Yes, sir," agreed Vitello, trying not to sweat. He wasn't used to the trappings of power, although the view over the So-Cal megalopolis from Zhong's corner office was stunning – even through the layer of smog.

"How is your lovely wife keeping?" asked Zhong.

"Linda is well," he replied. It looked like the Mandarin was trying to make him comfortable by asking the standard set of personal questions. "She has taken over the advanced Na'vi classes from Doctor Palmer."

"So I understand," replied Zhong. He rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his hands. It seemed that the business part of the unexpected meeting was about to begin. "I wish to make you an offer."

* * *

"What did Zhong want?" asked Linda.

"There has been trouble on Pandora," replied Vitello, wishing that she would smile. Since Linda had been told she could not bear children, smiles had been few and far between from his lovely wife.

Linda commented, "There hasn't been anything about it on the news."

"When it does hit the news, RDA stock is going to plummet," said Vitello. "The last superluminal transmission said the Na'vi have thrown the RDA off-planet."

"What?" demanded the former Corporal Paklowski. Her shoulders sagged. "I suppose that's the end of the Avatar program, and our jobs." They would have to move out of this apartment, into something a lot cheaper. And nastier.

"No," said Vitello excitedly. "Exactly the opposite. The RDA is expanding the Avatar program. Zhong wants us to go back to Pandora as part of the cadre of an expedition to re-establish the outpost. He has already selected the commander. Some guy called Renshaw."

"Oh," replied Linda. "I suppose there isn't that much keeping us here, and the money will be good."

"There was something else," said Vitello, crossing his fingers behind his back. "We wouldn't be coming back."

Linda stared at her husband. "Are you fucking crazy? I hope you said no."

Vitello shook his head. "R&D has cracked permanent Avatar personality transfers," he said. "The entire expedition will be made up of Avatars, just like Sara the Smurf."

An expression of fear crossed Linda's face. "You know we can't speak about it. The RDA will crucify us."

He started to stride back and forth the few steps across the living room. "Don't you get it?" he exclaimed, waving his arms about. "The Avatars will be fertile. If we go, we can have children – very tall blue children." He stopped, and looked down anxiously at his wife. "Are you ok?"

Linda gave a great sob, her shoulders shaking and tears rolling down her face.

Vitello wrapped his bear-like arms around his small wife and whispered, "It's ok, sweetheart. We don't have to go, not if you don't want to."

She raised her head to gaze back into her husband's eyes through her tears, a sweet smile appearing on her face. "Where do I sign?"

* * *

Zhong tapped an icon on his data tablet, bringing up an image spread across the walls of his office. It was regrettable that he would not be going on the expedition to re-establish the RDA presence on Pandora – his presence was required here, on Earth. After the debacle of Selfridge's simplistic dependence on military force, the Board had endorsed a much more subtle strategy to deal with the Na'vi, based on negotiation and mutual interest. Backed up, of course, with a less palatable alternative.

If only the Board had agreed with his proposed strategy years ago, this whole embarrassing fiasco would never have occurred.

Sometimes he despaired of this gweilo-ridden company.

At least the Board had agreed with his selection for the mission commander. Colonel Renshaw – despite his wounds – was a subtle and effective man, very unlike Quaritch the psychopath.

Zhong stood and ran a fingertip over the equations projected on his wall. His tame mathematician said Sara the Smurf's work was absolutely sublime.

It was strange to think that the work of an autistic savant embedded in an Avatar would provide the RDA with the knowledge and power to destroy an alien planet-wide intelligence. All he needed to do was to open communication with the Na'vi, and apprise them of this fact. After that, it would be reasonably simple to negotiate an agreement to recommence mining operations. Then humanity and Na'vi could co-exist in peace.

Sun Tzu said it best, thought Zhong. To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence - supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.


	48. Chapter 48

It was raining.

Not the heavy drenching type of rain, but fine, misty rain, the kind that made everything slippery and damp, without actually getting really wet. Stxeli'tstal sighed as he watched water gathering along the edge of the woven canvas sheet protecting their sleeping place. Beads of water slowly grew, and when they reached a certain size, fell to the ground.

He sighed again.

"What is it?" asked his father.

Stxeli'tstal sighed for a third time. "I'm bored."

"Why don't you go and play with some of your friends," said Tsawlontu. "You always have fun with Sylwanin."

Stxeli'tstal looked at his feet. "We play with kalinkey'plox when it rains."

Tsawlontu said knowingly, "Ah. Much becomes clear."

"All the kalinkey'plox were at home when it burnt and fell," said his son mournfully.

A wave of anger washed through Tsawlontu's veins. Two of his son's friends had died in the fall of Kelutrel. He knew that Stxeli'tstal was not only missing his favourite toys. It was not right that his son should be afflicted with this sadness, so young. He clenched his fists – no, fist. Other things had gone missing in the war against the tawtute.

"If you bring me back some fallen timber," said Tsawlontu carefully, "I will see what I can do to remedy this problem."

* * *

Kalinkey heard the voices of her mate and her son as she approached their sleeping place.

"It is the right size and shape now, sempu, but the sides should be smoother," said Stxeli'tstal.

"I see you are observant, ma'itan," observed Tsawlontu. "This is why I sent you to fetch both coarse and fine river sand."

She stopped, just out of sight of the two males that belonged to her, and listened, despite the misty rain.

"Why are you mixing some of sa'nu's healing resin?" asked Stxeli'tstal. "Won't she be angry?"

"Not this time," replied Tsawlontu. "I don't think she will mind at all." There was an indeterminate period of intense silence, which was only broken by her mate's voice. "Quickly, now, pour the coarse sand onto the resin on this wood."

"Yes, sempu. Is this right?"

"Very good," said Tsawlontu. "You are a fine assistant. Now, take the piece of wood, and use the sand to smooth the kalinkey'plox, while I start on another one. No, don't rub too hard, you will score the surface."

"Oh, I see how it works now," commented Stxeli'tstal. "After we take the roughness out with the coarse sand, we make another one with the fine sand. Then we rub the plox sides smooth."

"Exactly," said Tsawlontu. "Before you know it, we will have made a kalinkey'plox."

Stxeli'tstal said happily, "This is fun."

She brushed away the tears pricking her eyes, took a deep breath and entered their sleeping place. "What have you men been doing today?" asked Kalinkey, when she saw the mess that her two males had been making.

Her son looked up from his work and smiled at her. "We've been making kalinkey'plox," Stxeli'tstal announced proudly.

"I see," observed Kalinkey. She wrinkled her nose. Their sleeping place now had the unmistakeable fragrance of fine wood dust. "How many have you made?"

"Sempu has carved five," said her son.

"They aren't finished yet," advised Tsawlontu. He put down his knife and picked up the raw form of a kalinkey'plox, studying it critically. "After our son has smoothed them, they need to be painted with a lacquer, to stop the wood rot."

Kalinkey said gravely, "Rumut sap can be used to make a good lacquer, when it is heated. Perhaps you should use that."

"Rumut sap," pondered Tsawlontu, turning the plox over and over in his right hand. "Yes, I think rumut sap will do very nicely." He looked up at his mate and smiled. "If we use different woods and lacquers, we can make plox of many different colours."

"How many kalinkey'plox were there in Kelutrel?" asked Kalinkey. She knew very well exactly how many plox there had been. Despite one of the conditions of their use for play, on more than one occasion she had to put every single one of them away.

"Seven hundred and eighty-five," answered her son.

Tsawlontu made a face. "I suspect I will be making plox for many days."

"One hundred and fifty-six days, if we make five a day," announced Stxeli'tstal, without a moment's thought. It seemed he had inherited some of his mother's predilection for numbers.

"You will have to improve your plox making skills, my love," said Kalinkey. She bent down and kissed her mate on the forehead.

* * *

That night, after Stxeli'tstal had fallen asleep and they had joined in tsahaylu, Tsawlontu said to Kalinkey, "You were right. Spirit is everything."

"Not everything," disagreed Kalinkey. "Bodies can be very nice too." She reached down and starting stroking a sensitive part of his body, making him gasp with pleasure.

Tsawlontu chuckled, "I bow before your greater wisdom, ma'Kalinkey."

"One part of you isn't bowing," she teased. "It is growing straighter, and very tall." Kalinkey rolled over on top of her mate, and lowered her body down, until she too gasped with pleasure, as she rocked back and forth.

* * *

The number of finished kalinkey'plox increased rapidly.

It was the season of rains, after all.

* * *

There still weren't nearly enough pots, crocks and jars, despite the efforts of the potter. Kalinkey struggled to prepare and store enough of many drugs for the clan's needs. Not only that, it was annoying trying to learn the tones of her new storage containers, when she had been so used to the ones that Akwey had bequeathed to her.

"Kaltxi, Kalinkey," said Zha'nelle.

"Why are you smiling so much?" grumbled Kalinkey.

Zha'nelle's hand slipped down to brush her abdomen and her smile grew broader.

"You are carrying a child?" demanded Kalinkey.

"Srane," agreed Zha'nelle. "I am sure now."

Kalinkey rose to embrace her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng. "I am so happy for you," she whispered.

"I still miss Uniluke with you," Zha'nelle whispered back. "Are you..."

Kalinkey shook her head, and smiled wistfully as their embrace dissolved. "Not for want of trying. Tsawlontu has been most diligent, especially since he has been making plox for the children. The absence of his hand has been no barrier to his ardency."

Zha'nelle's eyes dropped guiltily down to the barely discernable scar low on Kalinkey's belly, and she bit her lip. "I am sorry. It is my fault."

"Shhh, my sister," said Kalinkey. "If you had not done these things, then neither my son nor I nor my mate would be alive." She caught at Zha'nelle's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I am sure that in time I will be graced by Eywa."

"I have heard from Max Patel," said Zha'nelle. "He said the hand will take several months to design and build, but there will be no real difficulty."

"But Tsawlontu has refused to agree to use a prosthesis," objected Kalinkey. "You know this."

"Ah," growled Zha'nelle. "I have been thinking on how to change his mind."

"How?" queried her sister. "Tsawlontu is very stubborn. He would not change it, not for this, even for me."

Zha'nelle shrugged, an evil glint in her eye. "He cares for his brother very much."

"I don't understand," said Kalinkey.

"Oh, Kalinkey, you still are so sweet and innocent," replied Zha'nelle. "In time you will understand."

"I'm not sure that Tsawlontu would agree that I am either sweet or innocent," commented Kalinkey. She sighed, and then changed the subject. "I have need to return to Kelutrel. There are not enough of the secret berries to supply the clan with tirea'tutee. The only grove near here has but a few plants, and I have not been able to find others."

"This is indeed a problem," agreed Zha'nelle. "If the women of the clan cannot have Uniluke, then there will be much trouble."

"And very many children in nine months," responded Kalinkey. "There is a large grove of the plants near Kelutrel. I will have to return there to harvest enough berries."

"There will be some danger if you go by yourself," asserted Zha'nelle. "I will go with you."

"No," said Kalinkey firmly. "You should stay here, and rest. It will be better for the child. Besides, I need you to care for Stxeli'tstal, and you have Sylwanin to consider."

"But you cannot take a male," her sister objected. "It is secret women's business."

"I will be fine," replied Kalinkey. "I do know how to use knife and bow, after all."

Zha'nelle started to object again, and then saw the firm set of Kalinkey's jaw. "You are as stubborn as Tsawlontu," she complained.

* * *

"I have heard much of you from Zhong," said Colonel Renshaw. "Your service records and his opinion rate you both very highly.

Neither Vitello nor Paklowski had ever seen anyone who had undergone so much cybernetic augmentation. All his limbs had been replaced by prosthetics with no regard for cosmetic appearances, together with his right eye. However, it was clear to see why – half of his face appeared to have been melted, until it had run like candle wax. If the rest of his body was the same...

"Thank you, sir," both of them replied in unison.

"I will be looking for a great deal of support from you," continued Renshaw. "You will be the only members of the cadre with previous experience of Pandora."

"Why is that, sir?" asked Linda.

"Please, sit down while I explain," he requested.

"If it is all the same to you, sir," said Vitello, "We prefer to stand."

"Very well," replied Renshaw. "This will be a very different expedition. Under the rules of engagement, I have been directed to avoid combat if at all possible. Instead, our mission is to negotiate a peaceful accommodation with the Na'vi. Therefore, I did not want any personnel on the mission that had hostile feelings towards the indigenous in habitants of Pandora. Given your fluency in Na'vi, your experience in the first contact team, and the personal recommendation of Zhong, I felt that there would be no better choice to act as my advisors."

"There is also another factor," he added. "I believe you know one of our people who remained on Pandora as guests of the Na'vi – a Sergeant Lewis."

"The bugger," exclaimed Paklowski. "I wonder if..." she clamped her mouth shut, as soon as she realised what she was about to say.

Renshaw grimaced, or perhaps he smiled. It was hard to tell the difference on his face. "Good. I like people who know how to keep their mouths shut."

"I'm sorry, sir," apologised Linda. "We swore an oath to the Na'vi. I cannot tell you what I think may have happened to Sergeant Lewis."

"Excuse me, sir," asked Vitello. "Why are we here in the Ukraine? I would have thought preliminary training would be held in So-Cal, until our Avatars were ready. That is where we did our training for our first stint on Pandora."

"Given your Avatars are ready now, I thought there was no point in having you fumble around with the other recruits," said the Colonel.

Linda said, "But it takes at least..."

"Four months to grow an Avatar, using the flash cloning process," finished Renshaw. "Zhong anticipated this requirement before the events went down on Pandora, and authorised production of your Avatars – and mine, using DNA samples held in the RDA storage banks. He is a man who believes in forward planning."

"Well, fuck me sideways," said Vitello admiringly. "The Mandarin is at it again."

"You are both scheduled for transfer tomorrow, at 0900," advised Renshaw. "I suggest that you retire early, and get plenty of rest. Tomorrow will be a big day. Dismissed."

* * *

"Is it true?" asked Renshaw, facing the monitor on his desk.

"I am afraid so," answered Zhong. "I could not dissuade the Board from making another attempt to re-establish control of Hell's Gate by military means. They intend using the opportunity provided by the arrival of the next starship. They will also use the corpsicles that were placed at the L4 position of Polyphemus for heavy support."

"I gather you do not expect them to succeed," said Renshaw.

Zhong replied, "No. My assessment of the Na'vi is that they will resist brute force to the utmost of their capability. Now that they have experience in fighting troops quipped with modern weapons, I expect it will be a bloodbath." He sighed, looking less inscrutable than usual. "The Board is viewing our expedition as a useful contingency, and a long-term force multiplier."

"So we proceed as planned," stated Renshaw.

"Have you reviewed the projections from the mathematical model I provided?" asked Zhong.

"Yes," said Renshaw. "The predictions show it will be relatively easy to detect key nodal points in the planetary organism. Precise orbital strikes will enable them to be destroyed, disrupting neural activity to a level which should see network efficiency fall below the threshold for conscious thought. Unfortunately, the payload requirements will force the missiles to be carried on the second starship, due to the mass overhead."

"Good," said Zhong, knowingly perfectly well that the weapons would have to be on the second starship. He had ensured that the mission parameters were defined to exactly achieve that objective, just so Renshaw would not be tempted to use them as a first option. "I just hope you don't need to use this knowledge."

"I hope so too," replied Renshaw.


	49. Chapter 49

"Doc," said Vitello, as he watched his wife being closed up in the link unit. They had drawn straws to see who would go first, and she had won. Or lost, if you took the opposing point of view.

"What is it, Vitello?" asked the link unit technician – who, unlike many of the personnel in the Avatar program, had not yet achieved the exalted level of Ph.D. However, he was being paid a hell of a lot more than the average doctoral student.

"If Linda doesn't make the transfer, make sure that I don't either," he said grimly.

The technician swung about. "Are you serious, man?" When Vitello did not answer his question, merely looking back at him steadily, the tech realised that this tough-looking guy meant what he had said. "Ok. I think it is a million to one shot that this won't be successful, but if she doesn't, I will see what I can do."

"Good."

"Initiating link," announced the technician. "I have the first congruency." The numbers on the console spun quickly upwards towards the target one hundred percent. "Your wife will soon be the first person to permanently transfer her personality to an Avatar."

"Second," corrected Vitello.

The geek turned slightly to say, "What?"

"Linda will be the second."

"That's a myth, man," advised the technician. "An urban fucking legend. One hundred percent congruency. The link is stable. Initiating permanent transfer protocol."

* * *

Corporal Linda Paklowski – she had insisted on resuming her old rank – blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. Falling down the tunnel of light had been like some twentieth century visualisation of an acid trip. "Are we there yet?" she asked sardonically.

Her voice sounded a little different.

"Ms Paklowski, welcome to the rest of your life," said a voice.

A face behind an exo-pack swam into focus above her. The bastard shone a bright light into her eyes, and clicked his fingers, making her ears twitch. Twitch?

"Visual and auditory response nominal," announced the bastard wearing the exo-pack. "Finalise permanent transfer."

"Gah!" groaned Paklowski, as someone drove an ice-pick into her brain, followed by a peculiar wrenching sensation. Her vision briefly turned red, before clearing. "That fucking hurt."

"Rest a moment, while we attend to your husband, Ms Paklowski," advised the geek. "I'm happy to tell you that you are all the way over."

Linda was happy to just lie there for a moment. Several moments, actually. She felt as though elephants had been jumping up and down on her. She ignored the muttering of the technician alongside her, and held up one hand.

"Holy fuck!" she exclaimed at the sight of her blue-skinned hand, turning it over and back again several times. Carefully, she sat up and swung her legs to the side of the gurney. Yes, her legs were blue too, and tiger-striped. Shit! She was wearing one of those bare-assed hospital gowns. "Has anyone got a fucking mirror?" she demanded.

"Arrrgh!" said a very familiar voice. "That fucking hurt."

"Babe?" she asked, standing up and turning around, her tail – tail? – swinging around in a deadly arc. "It is you."

His face was still recognisably her gorgeous husband – but his body! She had always thought he had a body to die for, but now...The Avatar rose to his feet, swaying a little as he said, "Whoa! Ride 'em cowboy."

"Be careful, Sergeant Vitello," warned the technician. "It will take you a little while to get used to your new body."

"Linda!" he murmured, making a warm glow erupt in her abdomen, the way that only he could. He grabbed for the gurney, yanking it out of the way.

"Hey guys, get a room," said the technician. The two Avatars ignored him. They were too busy kissing.

"You're the same height as I am," observed Vitello, between kisses. "I like it."

"So do I," replied his wife. "I hear they have a forest here. Do you want to check it out, before they put us to work?"

"Why not," he answered.

* * *

The journey to Kelutrel had taken until midday. Kalinkey found it hard to orient herself, as everything looked wrong. The shape of the land was right, but the towering presence Hometree was no longer there. It took her some time to find the grove with the secret berries.

Once her basket was full, Kalinkey's feet carried her towards the fallen giant. Flurries of ash still swirled where her feet fell, although many of the burnt trees were sprouting green fronds in great profusion, almost as if they were saying fire was not enough to kill them.

Hometree, however, showed no renewal of green. Her home, her home since the time Kalinkey had become Omaticaya, was dead. She climbed up into the hollow of the trunk, blackening her skin with charcoal. Inside, there were still tendrils of smoke coming from cracks in the trunk. Hometree was still slowly burning, even now.

Everything she saw was burnt and broken. Kalinkey managed to clamber into the space that had been the healer's alcove. Smashed pottery was everywhere – not a single vessel was intact. She shut her eyes, and touched one of the larger shards. "I remember you," she murmured. "You contained the powder that eased aches of the head." It was the first crock that Akwey had allowed her to open.

Her hand moved slightly, and curled around a familiar shape. Kalinkey opened her eyes. "My drumsticks," she said, surprised. They were only slightly singed, and still sound. She smiled.

Kalinkey spent a little more time scrambling through the corpse of Kelutrel, but found nothing else that had meaning for her. There were other things, though, that might wish to return to the ones who had possessed them. She resolved to carry this news back to Vitraya Ramunong on her return. Before she did this, though, she had two tasks to complete.

The first task was pleasurable, merely involving bathing in the lake of the Omaticaya to remove the dirt from her skin and hair. Luckily there were some soapbushes unburnt by the shoreline, although even after scrubbing away with their leaves for some time, Kalinkey still smelt of smoke. No doubt it would take some time to wash away.

It was with pounding heart that Kalinkey approached her second self-appointed task. Perhaps it was not surprising that where she knelt, the grass was still green, and flowers were growing.

"I know you are not really here, Sylwanin my love," she said, brushing fallen leaves away from the grave. "It was just that I wanted some time alone to remember you. Life has been so busy since the fall of Kelutrel, and the war with the tawtute. There has been no time when I could I remember you, and tell you how much I still miss your presence."

Her skin started prickling between her shoulder blades. Slowly, so very slowly, Kalinkey rose from where she knelt and turned around.

A girl – no, a young woman, barely past the first blush of adulthood, although she was the smallest Na'vi woman Kalinkey had ever seen – stood there, her head tilted to one side, silently watching Kalinkey. The leather harness the woman wore was strange yet familiar, the hilts of two swords riding high above her shoulders, ready to be drawn with a single action. Kalinkey blinked once, and knew the woman's face.

"Na'dia?" she whispered, lifting one hand in greeting.

The crack of a twig breaking sounded. The woman blew Kalinkey a kiss, whirled and faded away without saying a word. Tiny columns of swirling ash were the only mark of her passage.

"Kalinkey?" called a well-known voice. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Mo'at," she answered.

The Tsahik of the Omaticaya came into view. Kalinkey had never seen her before without some form of ceremonial robes. Instead, she was dressed as would any ordinary woman of the Omaticaya, and she carried a bow as well. "I see you tend the grave of my daughter," said Mo'at sadly.

Kalinkey nodded. "I still miss her, every day."

"As do I," agreed Mo'at. She reached out to hold Kalinkey's hand, entwining their fingers as they gazed down at the flower covered mound. "I wish to apologise for the heat of my words, and the blow that I inflicted," she said. "Sylwanin's absence still pains me, and sometimes my temper gives me pause."

"I understand," said Kalinkey. "The thought of losing my son, let alone my mate...I could not bear it."

There was an extended silence, until the Tsahik said, "Tsawlontu asked me to come here, to make sure that you were safe. He does not like to think of you alone, and knew that you were on secret women's business." Mo'at nodded at the full basket. "It is good that you think of others."

"Akwey was a good teacher for me," replied Kalinkey. "He taught the duties of a healer very thoroughly."

"I might dispute your opinion," chuckled Mo'at, clearly remembering the trials of her youth. "My experience was a little different."

"He liked to have everything just right," added Kalinkey. "I liked that."

"Come," said Mo'at. "Let us return to Vitraya Ramunong, and your family. I will tell you stories of both Akwey and Sylwanin to lighten the way."

The Tsahik was right. The telling of stories did make the journey along the fya'o gawvik Omaticayaru easier.

The two Avatars stepped out into the dome, hand in hand, and stopped dead.

* * *

"My God," murmured Vitello. "The forest didn't look like this on Pandora."

"I imagine the visual range and frequency discrimination of Na'vi eyes provides a somewhat different experience to normal human visual acuity," replied his wife, teasing him. "If you had read the fucking manual, you might have picked up that little skerrick of information."

Vitello snorted, "As if you had read the manual either." He wriggled his toes, digging them into the soft ground, mentally thanking Linda for insisting to the Avatar team technicians that boots were not required. The sooner his feet toughened up, the sooner he could emulate the silent passage of a Na'vi warrior through the forest.

"Na'rìngìl txe'lan Eywalu nìngay lor," said Paklowski.

"Yes," he agreed, "The forest is truly beautiful." Vitello did not argue that the forest was that of Eywa, and not the RDA, despite the intervening five light years between Earth and Pandora, and the soaring glass dome that kept the poisonous atmosphere of his birth planet away. Neither did he question her switch of language. Linda's voice was so musical when she spoke Na'vi, he could listen to her for hours without interruption.

"Za'u, Niccolo te Vitello Giorgio'itan," she said, pulling at his hand with both of hers, a mysterious smile on her face. "Aeoeng kem si zene 'uo." She released his hand, and started to run through the trees, taunting him to chase her.

Vitello laughed, and followed his wife, never quite catching her. But that was all part of the game. He was sure that Linda would allow herself to be caught when she wanted.

He was right. Linda was waiting for him under a small willow tree. She beckoned him closer, and knelt on the ground. "What do you want?" he asked as he joined her on the ground.

She picked up the end of her queue and asked softly, "Nga neu oel, muntxatan, eo Eywa."

Tears pricked at Vitello's eyes as he realised what Linda was asking. She was committing to him, forever, without reservation. He knew that once the bond of tsahaylu was made, there would be no divorce, no separation, no relationship breakup. Vitello could do no less, so he lifted his own queue to hers, and whispered, "Nga yawne lu oer."

* * *

Renshaw leant forward past the recording tech's shoulder and snapped off the master video feed switch. He said quietly, "I think Vitello and Paklowski deserve some privacy."

"But I have to tape everything," objected the tech. "It's in my orders." He moved to switch it back on, only to find a cold prosthetic hand firmly wrapped around his own. The tech hadn't even seen Renshaw move.

"Would you like me to call Zhong?" said the Colonel. "He is on my speed-dial, and I am sure he will be happy to amend your standing instructions."

The tech was acutely aware that the combat prosthetic Colonel Renshaw was wearing could crush his hand into pulp, and a cold sweat sprung out on his brow. The aura that this soldier projected was not one that threatened or blustered or shouted. Instead, it spoke of determination and action, and command. Renshaw was the most intimidating man that he had ever fucking encountered.

He had no doubt that this man would call Zhong if required. The tech had no wish to attract the displeasure of the Mandarin. The rumour was people that displeased the Mandarin ended up with a bad case of dead.

"No sir, that won't be necessary," said the tech, trying not to squeak. "I will amend SOP to ensure that the married couple receive due consideration with regard to their privacy."

Renshaw's hand slowly released, the same way a hydraulic press retreated from crushing a billet of steel. "Thank you," he said politely. "Carry on."

As the colonel left the recording booth, the tech almost slumped over his control panel.


	50. Chapter 50

"I saw Na'dia," said Kalinkey to Tsawlontu. "Only for a moment, at the ruin of Kelutrel. Mo'at scared her away."

Her mate was carefully paring away thin slices from a block of wood held between his feet. It made Kalinkey nervous. A single slip of his razor sharp knife would remove a couple of toes in an instant, but she did not say any stupid platitudes to him like 'be careful' or 'work with the grain'. Tsawlontu would be quite justified in snapping her head off if she did such an idiotic thing.

Tsawlontu commented, "From what you tell me of your friend, I hardly think that Mo'at would strike fear into her. I don't think she has ever experienced fear. You must mean another word."

"Are you making another plox?" asked Kalinkey, trying to disarm her mate.

He nodded in confirmation. "Our son advised me that he requires more plox. He said something about wanting to use plox to...um, do something with numbers. He started talking very quickly, and I did not understand the noises he was making."

"Oh," said Kalinkey, feeling a little tinge of jealousy. She never seemed to have time to play with numbers any more.

"It seems he is taking after his mother in some things," said Tsawlontu. He picked up the unfinished form of the plox and examined it critically. He smiled, as if he was about to say something funny. "Although he did ask me when I was next going fishing. He said he would like to learn to cast a spear to catch fish, rather than use a net."

"What is it about men and fishing?" she asked curiously.

"It is secret men's business," he teased her. When she snorted derisively, he laughed, and said, "Fishing is not important, although I very much like to eat fish. There is much time between the catching of each fish. We men use the time to discuss serious matters."

"Gossip like old women, you mean," commented Kalinkey drily.

Tsawlontu did not rise to the offered bait, agreeing, "Gossip is one word that could be used to describe what we do, although we speak far fewer words than do old women."

"You are wrong about Na'dia," said Kalinkey. "I have seen her afraid, although I cannot conceive that she would ever be afraid of Mo'at, or any single person for that matter. Instead, she is afraid of larger things, but she uses her fear as fuel for her spirit. That is why her spirit burns so brightly."

"What did she fear?"

"Na'dia feared the loss of the dance," she replied. "That is what drove her to become a dreamwalker, after she was burnt by the fires of the sun. There are other things that she fears, although she has not spoken of them to me." She paused, remembering the anguish in Na'dia's eyes, after Kiev. "Why don't you make other things beside plox? You work the wood very well."

"I have thought about making a bowl," he replied. "Though the right piece of wood has not yet come to me. Until that happens, I make only kalinkey'plox for our son."

"I suspect that was why I only saw Na'dia for a brief moment," said Kalinkey.

Now Tsawlontu looked puzzled. "Because you did not have the right piece of wood?"

"No, my love," she scolded fondly, "Because it was not the right time for us to meet. I think she wanted to tell me that she is alive, and well, and that I should not worry for her."

"You know, that explanation seems to make sense," said Tsawlontu.

"Seems?" she asked, her eyebrow rising.

"It is just as well you do not have enough crocks," he commented. "I suspect otherwise I would be dodging flying pottery right now."

There was only one possible response for this sally by her mate. Kalinkey laughed.

* * *

"Why do you look so sad?" asked Zha'nelle.

Kalinkey was standing on the highest point of the rim of Vitraya Ramunong, looking out at the forest. Over the last few weeks she had made of a habit to come alone to this place, however briefly, so that she could look out at the world.

"She is out there, somewhere in the forest," replied Kalinkey. It seemed today she was not to be alone.

"Your friend Na'dia?" queried Zha'nelle.

Kalinkey nodded, but did not take her eyes away from the horizon. "Na'dia may not come to Vitraya Ramunong, and I cannot go to search for her," she whispered. "Duty keeps me here."

"And love," added Zha'nelle, taking Kalinkey's hand.

"Yes," she agreed. "Sometimes love can be crueller than duty." Kalinkey turned towards her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng to ask, "You saw Na'dia for the short time she came to be among the Omaticaya. How did she seem?"

"Na'dia did not seem like other Na'vi, or even tawtute," replied Zha'nelle after some little thought. "She fought with Tsaylu, and bested him easily. When he attacked her without warning, for vengeance against his shame, Na'dia slew him almost without effort, though this action cost her spirit greatly."

Kalinkey said, "The Na'dia I knew was both fierce and gentle. It does not surprise me that slaying another would give her pain."

"Should I be jealous?" teased Zha'nelle. "Na'dia is fair of both face and figure, although she is quite short."

"She always was small," said Kalinkey, a dreamlike expression on her face. "Even as a tawtute."

Zha'nelle abruptly dropped Kalinkey's hand and turned away, her eyes flaring with anger. "I heard that even though she is not Omaticaya, Na'dia was accepted into the tsumuke'awsiteng of Ninat, Peyral and Ney'tiri. They are of much an age as Na'dia."

Kalinkey did not hear the strange note in Zha'nelle's voice. She was years and light-years away, in the forest under the dome. "Na'dia was the first to kiss me here," murmured Kalinkey, touching two fingers to her lips.

"Ninat goes most days deep into the forest," said Zha'nelle viciously. "Perhaps you should go with her, to search for Na'dia. We do not seem good enough for you here." She gave a suppressed sob, and was gone.

"What?" asked Kalinkey, dragged back to reality with a bump. Why had Zha'nelle left so quickly?

* * *

Renshaw flexed his hands. It was strange being able to sense the muscles and tendons sliding past each other. Fifteen years of wearing combat prosthetics had made him used to the lack of feedback – or rather feeling – from his mechanical limbs.

He also did not recognise his unscarred face in the mirror. Not that he really looked in the mirror. There was no need to shave – a joy, because that meant he had an additional five minutes every morning.

In fact, his Avatar body looked disgustingly young and healthy.

However, the disciplines of a lifetime in the military were still with him. Renshaw's daily routine of a punishing weight program to maintain core body strength had become a habit that had carried over to his existence as a permanent inhabitant of an Avatar. It had been a necessity in his human body. If he didn't maintain core strength, his prosthetics could rip themselves away from their attachment points.

Renshaw had seen a holovid of exactly this happening. He hadn't thrown up – quite – but it had been a near-run thing.

There didn't appear to be any prospect of this happening to his Avatar.

"Jesus fuck, Colonel," said Vitello. "How much weight are you benching?"

"About seven-fifty," he answered, before gripping the bar above him.

The bar had an awful lot of platters on it. Vitello asked, "Pounds?"

He didn't answer, instead lifting the weights off the rests to start, the titanium bar flexing alarmingly. The first repetition wasn't too hard, but the second was a bit shaky. The third repetition...it inched slowly up, as he struggled to lift it, arms shaking under the strain. Suddenly, Renshaw roared, sounding more like a lion than any other animal. The surge of strength lifted the weights cleanly, holding it directly above his chest as his elbows locked, until he dropped the bar back into the rests with an almighty crash.

Renshaw sat up, took a deep breath and released it, before flicking the sweat from his brow. "Kilos," he answered. He grinned at Sergeant Vitello. "In Pandoran gravity, a tonne might be on the cards."

Vitello tossed a towel at his commanding officer, who promptly used it to wipe down his body. "You asked me to drop in," stated Vitello, thinking that he would never take the CO on in arm wrestling. Renshaw would be able to rip off the offending arm and beat his opponent to death with it.

"Yes, I did," replied Renshaw. He picked up a skipping rope. "I want you to give your impression of the recruits."

"I've never seen a bigger bunch of cripples and misfits," said Vitello. "I admit there is not a dumb one amongst the lot of them, but what fucking criteria were used to select them?"

The colonel started to skip, talking easily as the rope swung around his body. "Motivation and drive," he replied. "The key was the willingness to dump their human bodies and leave this world, perhaps never to return. You and your wife met exactly the same criteria as everyone else."

"But some of them are civilians," objected Vitello. "One of them – Petrova – before she was crippled she was a fucking ballet dancer! How the fuck are we going to train someone like that?"

"Think of it as a challenge," said Renshaw calmly. "You've got five months before they all get their Avatars, and then you have one month familiarisation before we board the _Dog Star _for Pandora."

"The dome is going to get fucking crowded," commented Vitello. A hint of bitterness was in his voice.

Renshaw stopped skipping. "I'm afraid you are going to have to share your private Xanadu," he said with a twinkle in his eye, and observed Vitello's face flush darker. "It shouldn't be too bad – as soon as the first Avatars finish their familiarisation in four months, they get shipped up into orbit and cooled down. There will only be a week or two when it will be really crowded."

Vitello didn't answer – at least not in words. Instead, he grunted, the tone conveying more of his thoughts that a thousand words.

"What about Na'vi speakers?" asked Renshaw. "I need as many as I can get."

Vitello bit his lip. He liked his new CO, and didn't want to disappoint him. "Linda and I think we will only be able to train a few up in the time we have. Na'vi is a fucking bastard of a language. It took me and Linda months on Pandora to learn it, and we weren't doing much else at the time. The recruits have to do the full Pandoran familiarisation training, weapons training, tactics, Avatar training, the whole kit and caboodle. There just isn't enough time."

"How did you come to pick it up?" asked Renshaw curiously. "Your personnel jackets said you and your wife were among the first to become fluent Na'vi speakers – even before the first text books or training courses."

Vitello's jaw clamped shut, a muscle flexing in his jaw. "I'm sorry, sir," he said stiffly. "You're not cleared to have that information."

Colonel Renshaw studied the NCO closely. He wasn't an expert in reading Avatar cum Na'vi facial expressions yet – they were subtly different from human - but he could tell grim determination when he saw it. There was no way VItello was going to leak information. Nor would he expect this man to do so – not with his military record.

"Who is authorised to release this information?" asked Renshaw. "Is it Zhong?"

"Yes, sir," answered Vitello. "He is the only human with the authority. However, Colonel Zhong will not do so, not to anyone."

"Zhong was military?" asked Renshaw incredulously. He could not conceive the man universally known as the Mandarin was anything other than a high-level bureaucrat. It did not occur to Renshaw that Vitello had said that Zhong was the only _human_ with the necessary clearance.

"He was PLAAF – an attack chopper pilot," replied Vitello. "I only saw his fruit salad once – Colonel Zhong wore the Hero's Medal first class with bar."

Holy fuck, thought Renshaw. That was the PRC equivalent of the Medal, and he didn't have one award, but two. He briefly wondered how the citations would read.

"I am honoured to be under Colonel Zhong's command again, no matter what the mission," added Vitello proudly.

"I can see I have been guilty of misjudging the leader of the program," commented Renshaw. "Thank you for the attitude readjustment."

"My pleasure, sir," replied Vitello, only a tiny bit smugly. "I am always happy to assist command."

"Now," said Renshaw, all business. "I think we should go through the training plans, from go to whoa."

"Of course, sir," agreed Vitello.

* * *

Sometimes the duties of a Tsahik appeared never-ending, thought Mo'at. Attending to the spirit health of clan members sometimes made her want to pick them up and shake them, and tell them to grow up. Although this might have made Mo'at feel better, it generally did not assist the clan member concerned.

Instead, she had to be sympathetic, and listen. Sometimes the clan did not to realise that Mo'at was a person too, and she no longer had the comfort of her life-mate. Something caught in her throat and her eyes became suddenly moist.

No, she thought. Self-pity was not an option, not for her. She took a deep breath and hurriedly wiped her eyes clear of tears.

The Tsahik ducked her head under the canvas sheet into the sleeping space of Mìnkxetse and Zha'nelle, the latter of whom was curled up in a ball on her sleeping mat, like a very young child. It looked like healing the spirit of this woman was not going to be easy.

Mo'at knelt on the ground beside the mate and started, "Zha'nelle..."

"Go away," said Zha'nelle in a muffled voice. "I do not want to talk to anyone."

"What is the matter, my child?" she asked. "Kalinkey is worried for you." The clan healer was very indeed very worried, as her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng was refusing to talk, and avoiding Kalinkey at every opportunity.

Zha'nelle almost snarled, "I said I did not want to talk to anyone, especially about _her_." She curled up into a tighter ball, and there was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Oh dear, thought Mo'at. Zha'nelle was having one of _those_ pregnancies, where the mother-to-be was more like the tawtute rock that destroyed the land with great noise and violence, than a normal reasonable person, open to quiet discussion and logic. It was a shame that Uniluke could not be given to such when a woman was gravid, as the ceremony quietened those females who were prone to such outbursts. As Mo'at reached out to touch Zha'nelle, she reflected on the irony of defending a woman who had so recently offered her challenge.

No sooner had Mo'at's reassuring fingers touched Zha'nelle than she burst into tears. Between the sobs, the distressed woman stammered, "She d-doesn't l-love me any m-more. K-kalinkey only l-loves Na'dia."

If it wasn't Na'dia this and Na'dia that, yet again. Mo'at could quite cheerfully murder Txep'ean for insisting the cursed woman Na'diakhudoshin pass through the Eye of Eywa.

Before Mo'at could offer comforting words, Zha'nelle continued, "She n-never w-wanted me in the tsumuke'awsiteng. It was S-sylwanin who asked m-me, and now Na'dia has c-come, K-kalinkey w-wants n-nothing to do with me."

"You are right, of course," said Mo'at, in a cool voice. "It was my daughter Sylwanin who asked you to join the tsumuke'awsiteng. She told me all about it – but you are only aware of part of the truth. Kalinkey was too shy to ask you. It was Kalinkey who wanted you as her sister of the tsumuke'awsiteng, and it was Kalinkey who pushed Sylwanin to approach you."

Zha'nelle sat up abruptly, displaying her tear-stained cheeks. "I do not believe you," she announced suspiciously.

Mo'at shrugged. "It is truth. I do not think my own daughter would lie like a tawtute to me."

The Tsahik's words stopped Zha'nelle dead in her tracks.


	51. Chapter 51

There was only one casualty of the tawtute war still in Kalinkey's care.

"I don't know why you haven't let that thing die," commented Änsit viciously. "It has no spirit."

The warrior was one of the few Na'vi that the healer really disliked. If he had been a human, there was no doubt that he would have been an orderly. He had no business here.

Kalinkey continued on her self-appointed task, calmly rearranging the limbs of the Avatar. "The uniltìranyu who wore this body fought bravely alongside the warriors of the Fifteen Clans," she said quietly. "When this body was wounded, the uniltìranyu went back into battle in his tawtute body, though he might have been slain by our own people as an enemy. He was not a warrior, skilled in the way of the knife and bow. Do you have courage like his?"

Änsit growled, "I still think you should kill it." He stalked away, taking his air of aggrievement with him.

A familiar voice commented, "I wonder how Änsit survived the battle, when so many more worthy Omaticaya fell. It seems there is little justice in the world."

"I have often wondered the same thing, ma'tsumuke," replied Kalinkey. The heavy ache that had been dwelling in her heart for days vanished, leaving her spirit joyful. "He is one of the few of this clan who I actively dislike." She stood up and turned to face Zha'nelle.

"It is just as well that he was not wounded in the battle," said Zha'nelle, with a twinkle in her eye. "He may not have enjoyed his treatment at your hands, only."

"I have missed you, my love," said Kalinkey, holding her hand out to Zha'nelle.

Five fingers wrapped around four, and Zha'nelle made a rueful face. "I am sorry," she said. "It is just..."

"I know," replied Kalinkey. "It is my fault. I have been too concerned with my own life, so that I lost sight of yours. It was unworthy of me."

"No!" snapped Zha'nelle hotly. It seemed that the humours in her blood were still whipsawing at her emotions. "I am the one who has been stupid." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes before continuing more calmly, "You have Tsawlontu to concern you. It must be difficult."

Kalinkey did not deny what Zha'nelle said – it had indeed been difficult dealing with her mate. "The Tsahik has talked to you," she said, thinking that a change of subject might avoid an unpleasant argument.

Zha'nelle agreed, "Yes. She told me...well, you know."

Kalinkey knew very well what Zha'nelle was saying. Mo'at could be very forceful in opening one's eyes to the truth.

"Is it true that you love...Na'dia?" asked Zha'nelle. By her words and tone, it was apparent the green-eyed beast named jealousy was still living inside her heart.

"I have always loved Na'dia," answered Kalinkey truthfully. She gave a rueful smile, adding, "As a friend, or perhaps like a sister of the blood, rather than one of the circle. Besides, it seems the heart of Na'dia has been claimed by Ninat. Why else would our clan singer go deep into the forest every day, and emerge after dusk with a happy smile?"

"Oh," murmured Zha'nelle, the tension releasing from her shoulders.

Kalinkey shrugged, "Na'dia is now a girl on the cusp of becoming an adult, whereas I am an old woman, with a mate and child, and my responsibilities to the clan as healer. I am afraid even if Na'dia had not been expelled from the clan, she would have little time for such as me now."

"You are not old," said Zha'nelle hotly.

"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kalinkey, leaning forward to kiss her sister on the lips. An indeterminate time later, Kalinkey found that she needed to breathe, so she reluctantly ended the kiss. Curiously enough, when she opened her eyes, she found that she was in a close embrace with Zha'nelle, her sister's golden eyes only inches away from her own.

Zha'nelle whispered with seeming amazement, "You still love me."

"I never stopped loving you," answered Kalinkey. There was a discreet cough from behind her, causing the embrace to dissolve. When Kalinkey turned about, she said, "Olo'eyktan, I am sorry. I did not see you approach."

Zhake'soolly looked vaguely annoyed. "I wish you would call me Zhake, as I have requested on many occasions, Kalinkey."

Kalinkey laughed at the leader of the Omaticaya. "I call you olo'eyktan so that you will one day grow to believe it, Zhake."

"I suppose I asked for that," answered Zhake, his expression somewhat mollified. He made the gesture of greeting to Zha'nelle before he pointed his chin at the recumbent figure on the sleeping mat. "Is the Avatar healed now?"

"Yes," she answered. "I am curious as to why you have never told your friend that his dreamwalker body was recovered alive."

"At first I did not want to give Norm false hope, when there was a chance the Avatar would die," answered Zhake seriously. "Then, when it appeared the wounds were healing well, I wanted to give him a surprise."

"I hope Toktor Spellman does not suffer from a weak heart," commented Zha'nelle. "The surprise of seeing his Avatar might kill him."

* * *

The following day, a chopper came to take Zhake and Ney'tiri to Hell's Gate. It was difficult to fit Norm Spellman's Avatar in as well, particularly when Zha'nelle insisted on going with them.

Kalinkey had been curious as to why Zha'nelle had chosen to travel in the chopper. After all, Zha'nelle had bonded with an ikran, and could have easily flown there – despite her growing pregnancy. It was only after she returned that afternoon with a large plastic box that the penny dropped.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Kalinkey. They were in the place that Kalinkey had taken for treating the sick and injured, although now all the wounded from the battle had gone, it seemed almost empty.

Zha'nelle nodded and pressed an almost imperceptible button. The box sprang open to display a prosthetic hand, several power packs and a solar power generator. The hand looked very like one of the hands of the tawtute walking machines, not like the limb of a Na'vi at all.

"I will talk to Tsawlontu today," said Zha'nelle. "I am eager to start work on teaching him how to use this hand, so that he may embrace you properly once more."

Kalinkey made a face. "I wish you luck. Tsawlontu can be very stubborn."

"Not as stubborn as a former tawtute uniltìranyu," replied Zha'nelle.

Kalinkey chuckled. "When you put it like that, Tsawlontu has no hope at all of resistance."

Zha'nelle looked at Kalinkey curiously. "You seem different," she said. "Are you well?"

"I am very well," replied Kalinkey. She let her hand fall to her flat belly, and smiled. "Perhaps I should say instead, we are very well."

Zha'nelle squealed and grabbed Kalinkey in a tight embrace. "Is it true?" she demanded, almost jumping up and down in glee.

"Srane," answered Kalinkey calmly. "I am with child."

"I am so happy for you," exclaimed Zha'nelle. "Have you told Tsawlontu yet?"

Kalinkey looked a little shame-faced. She replied, "I am not going to tell him, not until it begins to show." When Zha'nelle went to open her mouth to demand why not, she added, "I am enjoying his nightly attentions. If Tsawlontu realises he has fulfilled his promise to me, to give me another child, his ardour might...slacken."

Zha'nelle began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. "You have become just like all other women," she said eventually. "Devious and tricky."

It then struck Kalinkey that she had been feeling different for some time. No, not different, that wasn't the right word. It wasn't that she had lost her numbers, or that she thought differently to how she had always thought.

It was something quite other than that.

* * *

Na'dia leaned hard into the embrace of Ninat. It could have all gone very wrong. She felt the rumble of agreement from her sensei, the palulukan.

Hunters from the Omaticaya had slaughtered an entire herd of talioang, against the strictures of the palulukan that had been set thousands of years ago. Such an offence demanded nothing but blood.

She had had no choice other than to challenge the Omaticaya for this transgression. If not for the courage of one hunter speaking up, and explaining why, she would have been forced to extract the price from the clan – the clan of Ninat, and of Txep'ean. Na'dia could not have borne this burden.

"It is a long way from the forest under the dome," said a voice.

Na'dia almost jumped in surprise, breaking the embrace of Ninat. The Na'vi woman who had spoken was tall and proud, in the full strength of her maturity. She did not seem afraid of the palulukan at all. Na'dia gave her lover a glance, hoping that she would translate, and signed, "Sara?"

"My name is Kalinkey now," replied the woman, before Ninat could start translating. She grinned, adding, "When I learnt that you had lost the power of speech, I taught myself sign language from a data tablet. Sign is a very logical language, well structured and the rules were simple to learn. It did not take long."

Laughing, Na'dia signed back, "Only you would say that." She moved forward to embrace her long-lost friend.

"I missed you," said Kalinkey, when they eventually parted. She smiled, and brushed a tear from her cheek. "It has been too long."

Ninat looked in confusion between the two women, clearly wanting to ask questions but unsure exactly what questions to voice. As far as she knew, her lover and the clan healer had never met.

Kalinkey explained, "It was I who gave Eywa's message to Na'dia on 'Rrta, that she should come to this world as a dreamwalker."

"It is true," signed Na'dia. "I knew Sara – I mean Kalinkey – before I ever came to Pandora."

The clan healer took a sly sideways glance at Ninat. "I thought you could not choose between male and female," said Kalinkey. "Ninat has all the appearance of a woman that has been Chosen."

The faces of both Ninat and Na'dia darkened, as though from embarrassment. Na'dia signed, "I have made tsahaylu with both Ninat and her brother Txep'ean."

"It seems some things never change," smiled Kalinkey.

Na'dia hesitated before signing her reply. This woman felt like the autistic girl that she had known in the forest under the dome, and yet unlike her as well. Kalinkey seemed strong and confident, not wracked by fear and uncertainty any longer. Slowly she signed, "And some things do. It seems you have changed much down the years since we were parted."

"Yes," agreed Kalinkey, who had once been known as Sara. "I am real now."

* * *

Out here, in the heights of the Chilean Atacama Desert, it never rained. It was one of the few places on Earth where there were still no people. And that meant there was no light, no light to smear the night sky and rob it of the glorious swath of the Milky Way.

Nor was there life here of any kind, except the life that Zhong had brought with him. This place was sterile, as sterile as the surface of the Moon.

This desert mountain was so high, the air was so thin, that the only way he could do more than barely survive here was by wearing a high altitude exo-pack, one that pressurised the thin air and robbed it of the poisons polluting the atmosphere.

While Zhong was waiting to see the flare of the launch lasers striking the light sail of the _ISV Dog Star_ – a purely sentimental indulgence on his part – he cast his mind back to an interview he had with one of the candidates for Renshaw's expedition.

* * *

"You have reviewed the projections of the mathematical model," he asked, or rather stated, addressing the attractive woman across his desk. She certainly was striking, her fine natural blonde hair contrasting with the features of an Imperial Han Princess. What tiny fragments of the illusion of her lineage remained were finally broken by the deep tan of her skin. No Imperial Princess would have allowed her skin to see the light of day, whereas this woman appeared to spend every moment she could under the open sky.

"Yes, sir," she answered in her flat, nasal voice.

Zhong almost winced. The stridency of this woman's Australian accent grated upon his ears. It was an offence against the English language – which, while not as beautiful as his native Mandarin, was a language that should be spoken with respect, honouring the many great men and women who had spoken it. Still, her service reports showed that she was an effective and honourable soldier – one that could be trusted. And it was hardly her fault where she had been raised. That sin could be laid squarely in the laps of her parents.

"The results were fucking obvious," she swore, and then immediately apologised. "Sorry, sir."

Zhong sighed in despair. This woman had the foul mouth of a gutter-snipe. "You cannot help where you were raised, Sharon," he said.

She shrugged. "I enjoyed my childhood. I just wished you had been there to share it with me, instead of swanning off to fucking Pandora to play with the bloody Na'vi."

"So do I, Sharon," replied her grandfather. "So do I. Unfortunately my daughter forbade me any contact. She always took her mother's part, after our divorce. I had to submit to her wishes."

"I bloody well wouldn't have,"commented his grandchild.

Zhong laughed – surprising Sharon. Her grandfather was noted across the RDA for the stoniness of his expression. "No, you wouldn't have," he agreed. That aspect of her personality was more than evident in her profile.

"Thank you for considering me for this mission, grandfather," said Sharon, finally managing to open her mouth without any expletives falling out.

"You are going to take the assignment?" he asked. It was hardly a question.

"I'd be fucking crazy if I didn't," she replied. "Even if it is a one-way trip. When I read the projections of the model, I almost shit myself." A cautious expression shifted over her face. "Has anyone else seen the results?"

"You are the only candidate for the mission to see them," he answered. "Nor will anyone else, not until the time is ripe."

"Not even Colonel Renshaw?"

"No," agreed Zhong. "He knows of the equation, and its application to the functioning of the global awareness the Na'vi call Eywa. He does not know of its use to predict the outcome of ecological systems. As far as he is aware, his objective is to establish peaceful coexistence with the Na'vi, and resume mining of unobtanium. The good colonel has been kept in ignorance of the true purpose of his expedition."

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "You want me to be some sort of secret agent, and give the colonel his real orders, instead of the fucking bullshit you have been feeding him."

"Yes," replied Zhong. He had not been wrong about his granddaughter. She indeed was a true scion of his family - both subtle and intelligent, despite her gweilo blood. "After good relations have been established with the Na'vi." He slid a single piece of paper across the desk for her to read. "The exact time I am leaving up to your discretion."

"Shit!" she exclaimed, after she had read the hand-written note. "You want him to rebel against the fucking RDA?"

Zhong replied, "The order authentication code is your service number – keyed with your voice, it will open a command file on Colonel Renshaw's tactical computer. I do not think you will forget it."

"Does anyone else know this?" demanded Sharon.

"No," answered Zhong. "We are two of the only three living humans who know that the Earth is headed for total ecological collapse. You have already met the third – Doctor Palmer conducted your preliminary interview." He sighed. "Regrettably, humanity passed the tipping point before I left to assume my post on Pandora, so there is little else to be done to save what can be saved." He picked up an old-fashioned cigarette lighter, snapping it on, watching the flame with fascination before closing it again.

"Fifteen fucking years, and that's it. Everyone dies," said Sharon, shaking her head. She knew that despite Phred Palmer's fame as the man who cracked the Na'vi language, he was no mathematician. "What about the geek who discovered the formula?"

Zhong took back the single sheet of paper, and used the cigarette lighter to set it alight. He watched the flames slowly consume the incriminating note he held, not flinching when the flames burnt his fingers. "The geek, as you so charmingly put it, is alive and well on Pandora. Sara the Smurf, or as she prefers to be called now, Kalinkey te Pesuholpxaype Lissa'ite, can hardly be counted as human. On the other hand, the tame mathematician who verified her results is no longer with us."

"How?" asked Sharon involuntarily.

"A bullet in the brain solved that little problem," answered Zhong, his voice calm and even. "A shame. He was quite bright, but not very knowledgeable about people. I had to replace the carpet in this office after he said he was going to the authorities. Doctor Palmer was quite upset at the mess – after all, he is a scholar, not a soldier."

"Fucking hell," whispered Sharon. "You are a cold bastard, just like Mum said." Suddenly, she was still, the stillness of a predator before attacking her prey. "If I don't do as you say, are you going to kill me too?"

Zhong replied, "I studied your psychological profile very closely before I decided on this course of action. The question was never going to arise."

"I can see why the RDA Board made you the fucking CEO,"observed Sharon drily. "You are a bloody sly prick."

The man that every RDA Sec-Ops grunt knew as the Mandarin gave a wintery smile. "I didn't give them any choice but to appoint me."

* * *

A brilliant blue star sprang into existence, almost directly overhead.

"There it is," said Phred Palmer.

Zhong didn't reply immediately to the unnecessary observation. The _ISV Dog Star_ was the brightest object in the heavens, illuminating this desert mountain peak with a ghostly blue light. "Thank you for suggesting we come here," he said eventually. "It truly is a spectacular sight."

They stood watching the starship move east, slowly pulling out of Earth orbit, until it was lost in the light of the coming dawn.

"Your granddaughter will fulfil her part of the mission?" queried Phred, as they walked down the mountain back to the chopper. The last superluminal message from Pandora told of the failure of the attempt to take and hold Hell's Gate by force.

"Yes. She gave me her word." Zhong reflected the last time he had seen her, just before she boarded the shuttle to orbit. Sharon certainly made a striking Na'vi woman - at least until she opened her mouth.

Phred observed, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She is very like you."

"It is kind of you to say so," said Zhong, remembering the slight nod she gave him in farewell. Sharon knew why he was not scheduled on the crew of this or any later mission to Pandora. She had no need to ask.

"What about Colonel Renshaw?" frowned Phred.

Zhong shook his head. "Renshaw is an honourable man, a man who follows the true path of the warrior. He is bound by his code to do the right thing."

Phred said wrily, "I wish I shared your confidence."

"I'm sure you do," answered Zhong, and shivered, despite the effectiveness of his thermal suit. The cold of this place would suck the life out of any animal. "There is a thermos of good coffee in the chopper with our names on it."

Phred shook his head in amazement. "Prepared for every circumstance, just like always."

"One tries, Doctor Palmer, one tries," replied Zhong. "I would prefer tea myself, but I am well aware that you would rather drink the Western beverage."

As they buckled into the cockpit of the chopper, the light of the rising sun brushed the very peak of the mountain. It seemed like an omen, somehow.

There was only one thing that disturbed the RDA CEO. Zhong knew himself to be a master manipulator, as good as any human in history. Why, then, did he feel that he had been manipulated by an expert?

Zhong knew the answer. He murmured a name under his breath as he spun up the engines, almost like a curse.

"Eywa."

THE END

* * *

**Author's Note**

For those who wish to read the full story of Na'diakhudoshin, I suggest you read my stories in the following order:

- New Steps  
- En Pointe  
- Oversway  
- Last of the Uniltìranyu

The story of Zha'nelle te Manitowabi Eywa'ite can be found in 'Overload'.

There is also a short one-shot featuring Zha'nelle, Kalinkey, Mìnkxetse and Tsawlontu called 'Harmless' that is set a few months after the close of 'Overload' and 'By The Numbers'.

I'd also like to thank my loyal reviewers for their support and encouragement during Kalinkey's story in 'By The Numbers'.

Will there be more? As I have previously said, I am evil, and apologise not in the slightest for that fact. So you will just have to wait and see.

Cheers.

broadhands.


End file.
